


Homeward Bound Part One: An Unexpected Journey

by ISeeFire



Series: Homeward Bound [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Canon Divergence, Drama, Entirely Happy Ending in Part Two, Everybody Lives, F/M, Family, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Friendship, Gen, Genderbending, Genderswap, Just About Everything Divergence, Mostly Happy Ending In Part One, Mostly Movie Based But Uses Book Canon When It Suits Me, Planned Series Even After Two Main Parts Are Done (I have MANY more story ideas for them!), Rule 63, Slow Romance, Thilbo, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 201,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/pseuds/ISeeFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilba Baggins couldn't be happier. She's embraced her Baggins' half and has placated her Took half with a short trip to Bree (the most adventure she ever wishes to have). In addition, she is convinced Fram Harfoot, the most eligible bachelor in all of Hobbiton, will soon declare his eternal love for her - particularly after he sees the dinner she's prepared for him. When the knock sounds on her door she just knows it heralds the first day of the rest of her life as a respectable, and entirely proper, Hobbit.</p><p>Instead of her Happily Ever After, however, Bilba gets a company of Dwarves - complete with their obnoxious leader who MIGHT be vaguely attractive if he ever stopped ruining it by opening his mouth.  </p><p>Clearly the only possible explanation is somewhere, in a past life, she must have done something truly AWFUL to deserve this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my very first fanfic! It's an Alternate Universe and, as such, I will be overlooking some trivial details. These details include, but are not limited to:  
> Gender - (only Bilbo, he's now a she named Bilba)  
> Age - (Bilba is much younger, in her Tweens. If you compared her to the age of a human she'd be about 19/20. This puts her right in the age range of Fili/Kili. Thorin is also younger, again in the age of a Human he'd probably be somewhere in his 30s. Dwalin is also Thorin's age as I picture them growing up together as best friends).  
> Timelines!  
> Canon!  
> Anything else I can think of!
> 
> The story will still loosely follow the plot of the Hobbit, and later The Lord of the Rings - you will still see Trolls, Goblins and Smaug but I don't promise the same outcomes, or even the same order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing cover for Homeward Bound made by the exceptionally talented Stefherde! :D


	2. Chapter 2

Bilba Baggins watched the road unspool before the cart and pony and sighed in contentment. She’d agonized over going to Bree, picturing all sorts of horrible calamaties and possible bad outcomes but, in the end, the weather had been beautiful, the trip itself uneventful, and, among her many purchases, she’d gotten an amazing deal on a set of gardening tools.

All in all a good trip, even if one of her main reasons for going couldn’t be accomplished until she returned home. Butterflies invaded her stomach and she felt a smile form at the thought. She was more nervous about that reason than the actual trip. Ahead the road wound over a small hill, peace, quiet and home lay just out of sight. Granted, even if her plan went perfectly, her homecoming wouldn’t be ENTIRELY peaceful, she’d no doubt have to put up with a few disapproving stares. After all, it was well established that a respectable Hobbit did not go on trips, particularly if that Hobbit was a young lady, and ESPECIALLY if that Hobbit was a young lady ALONE, without an escort.

For her, though, there was only one resident whose reaction she was worried about. Even as the thought crossed her mind, the butterflies turned to nerves chewing at her intestines and she felt the smile slip off her face. What if she’d misunderstood? What if Fram was just being polite when he said he was always impressed by Belladonna Took’s stories and adventurous spirit?

Her fingers tightened on the reins until her knuckles turned white. The further away from Hobbiton the more she’d been able to put the worries about her adventure out of her mind. Now, however, every step the pony took back brought her one step closer to having to face her neighbors, and Fram.

Bilba had zero adventurous spirit of her own, she was not her mother. Up to this point Bilba had left the Shire once and...that...that had not gone well. She banished the thought immediately, unwilling to go down that particular road. In any event, the point was she _wasn't_ her mother. Fram was apparently impressed with her mother but Bilba had always felt embarrassed. Her mother never cared about what others thought of her, Bilba did. She didn't want to be labeled as odd or, worse yet, a Disturber of the Peace like her mother. She wanted to live a quiet, peaceful, life surrounded by her books, garden and, hopefully, Fram.

Fram Harfoot, the Hobbit she'd pined after for years but could never bring herself to speak to, until that fateful day she'd run into him at the marketplace.

Literally, she’d been daydreaming and utterly failed to see him until she physically bounced off him and fell in an undignified heap at his feet. Still, as mortified as she'd been, she’d spoken to him and, what’s more, found out about his feelings toward her mother’s antics.

And that was when her Took side, dormant her entire life, reared its head. _Impressed by your mother is he? YOU could be like that, just a little bit. Then maybe, just maybe, he'd be impressed with you too!_ Shortly after that the idea of a _very_ brief trip to Bree had formed. She was still shocked at herself for coming up with the plan, let alone acting it out. What sealed it even more was finding the object of her affections had a pony and cart that would be perfect for the trip and would give her a reason to go talk to him again. She'd be able to tell him she was going and thus show him she was a little like her mother, but not so much as to be labeled as anything...unnatural.

It would be enough of an adventure to hopefully shut up her Took side and it would giver her yet _another_ excuse to see Fram when she returned and had to take the pony and cart back to him.

The only ugly part she might have to deal with would be Lobelia stopping by to make the same veiled suggestions she’d used to make about Belladonna, implying possible reasons as to WHY a young female might wish to take a trip away from her family and friends, unescorted.  

Every time that woman visited it was a gamble as to whether or not Bilba finally gave in and threw her hard won respectability, and Lobelia, straight out the window. So far the only thing that had saved her was the fact her mother always insisted showing anger toward a gossip merely gave them the pleasure of knowing their words affected you.

That and the fact Fram was an entirely respectable Hobbit and probably wouldn’t give her the time of day if she went and got herself labeled something nasty.

Still, all things considered, life seemed to be working out for her. The trip, in fact, had gone so well it had given birth to an amazing idea, something she never would have considered before going. Now, however, her confidence was at an all time  high and she knew, just knew, she could do things she'd never so much as contemplated before.

Things like not just talking to Fram but actually inviting him to dinner.

She laughed out loud, amazed at her own audacity, and grinned so hard it was a wonder her face didn't split.

The road curved and, suddenly, there was Hobbiton laid out before her. She passed between the hedges and began the trek up toward Bag End at the top of the Hill.

“Bilba! Back from Bree are you? How did your trip go?”

Bilba looked to where Seth Proudfoot and his wife, Priscilla, stood near their home and nodded in greeting. “Great! You’ll have to come by later and see what I bought.”

Priscilla nodded. “We may just do that. We're glad you made it alright.”

Bilba nodded again and continued on. A few more Hobbits called greetings as she went up and she cheerfully waved back. One or two made comments about worrying for her safety but there was no condemnation in their tones and, so it was, that by the time Bilba arrived at her doorstep her confidence was still exceptionally high and she was feeling quite pleased with herself. Her plan would work beautifully, she just knew it. She had quieted her Took side, would shortly be greatly impressing Fram, and had her new gardening set.

It was a really pretty gardening set.

She felt so pleased with herself, and was so engrossed in dreaming about the heaps of praise Fram would no doubt shortly shower upon her, that she utterly missed the enormous shadow that fell over her until she turned to go back outside and physically bumped into something just outside the door.

Bilba gave a startled yelp and fell back, only to have hands grab her arms and gently set her back on her feet.

“Goodness me, I’m so sorry!” Bilba said, “I’m afraid I simply wasn’t paying--”

Her voice trailed off as she found herself looking up, and up, a long gray robe past a long gray beard and up to the top of a pointed hat.

“Oh no,” she said without thinking, and the man raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no?” He repeated, sounding mildly amused. “Is that how you treat your mother’s dearest friend after so long?”

Her mother’s dearest friend and the one most responsible for the vast majority of things Belladonna did that eventually led to her being labeled a Disturber of the Peace.

Good feeling gone. The knotted feeling was back again and Bilba stumbled around the man hoping to finish unloading the cart as quickly as possible. If she could just get inside and shut the door --

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time.”

The man harrumphed and turned to watch her, leaning on his staff. “To think I’d live long enough to be treated so poorly by the daughter of Belladonna Took,” he mused.

Bilba came to a dead stop, her back to him, and mentally cursed the man in all five languages her mother made her learn that she definitely never used as it would be considered far too unusual. He certainly knew exactly what tactic to use.

She turned, gritted her teeth, twisted her mouth into something close to a smile, and made as polite a curtsey as possible. “My apologies, Mr. Gandalf," she said through still gritted teeth, "You must be tired after your journey from..wherever you’ve come from.” And most certainly should go back to. “Would you care to come in and have some tea?”

He studied her, his eyes piercing. After a moment it got downright uncomfortable and she looked away, down her path to where her nearest neighbor, Drogo Umbar, was watching her with narrowed eyes. Past that, and much further down, was the door leading to the home of Fram and his family. None of them were out at the moment and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Hopefully Gandalf would be long, long gone by the time any of them made an appearance. She looked back and saw Gandalf following her gaze with a knowing expression.  

Gandalf nodded once. “Well, that settles it. I dare say it shall be very good for you, and most amusing for me.”

And with that he turned and proceeded to walk off, back down her lane, out her gate and off in the direction leading out of Hobbiton.

Bilba was so startled she simply stared after him, her mouth slightly agape. What, in the world, was that? It took several moments to shake herself out of her shock and, by the time she did, Gandalf had already disappeared around a corner.

What was settled? What would be very good for her?

She stayed put for several long minutes but he never came back. Maybe he'd come to see if she was anything like Belladonna and, upon seeing she clearly wasn't, had given up on whatever scheme he'd concocted and left?

Yes, her mind almost hysterically supplied, yes, that must be it. He'd seen she was respectable and not at all unusual and had left her alone to go and find some other poor soul to drag off on harebrained, unexpected, adventures.

Trying to shake off her nerves, Bilba rushed to get the rest of her items in, all joy in their purchase gone. No doubt this was her punishment for trying to act so un-Hobbit like, even if it was just to try and impress Fram. If only she’d stayed put like a good Hobbit none of this would have happened.

All she needed was for Gandalf to show up, now of all times, just when things were starting to go her way, and start sowing chaos again. Before she knew it the rumors would start up, and her carefully crafted reputation would be ruined.

As would any chance she might have had with the Hobbit who was clearly the love of her life, even if he didn’t know it yet.

She grabbed the bridle of the pony and led him down the steep slope to the bottom of the hill. Once there she belatedly realized she’d just come from a long, and very dusty, journey and quickly took a moment to smack the dust off her traveling clothes, as well as try her best to tame her unruly hair. She should have gotten cleaned up before coming but Gandalf had so unsettled her she’d acted without thinking. She could always go back, it wasn't like anyone had noticed her yet --

The door opened and Bilba’s entire face flushed bright red as Fram Harfoot stepped outside.

“Ah, Bilba! Back from Bree already are you?”

Bilba, if possible, flushed even redder, one hand fisting in the fabric of her skirt. Curse Gandalf for confusing her and causing her to come down here without getting cleaned up first. For the first time she wished desperately she’d learned more languages, just so she could curse the man in all of those as well.

“I am,” she said, trying to sound cheery and flirtatious, “and so is your horse and cart, safe and sound as promised.”

Fram nodded and stepped forward to take the offered reins. He stood just a little taller than her, with a rotund build perfect for a Hobbit, and shiny, black hair. He always dressed conservatively in brown trousers, white shirt and vest, and kept the hair on his feet neatly trimmed.

Bilba often envied him, her own hair so difficult she kept it almost scandously short, and she constantly forgot to trim the hair on her feet. She did TRY to eat enough to look like a proper Hobbit but her mother’s insistence on sword fighting, and Bilba’s attempts to keep it up to honor her, left her far leaner than a truly respectable Hobbit would be.

Not that she ever practiced swordfighting in public of course. Fram would never give her the time of day and neither would any other Hobbit.

His fingers brushed against hers as she transferred the pony and Bilba felt her heart jump, and wondered if Fram’s did too. She definitely knew she’d never wash that hand again, EVER.

“Thank you again for letting me borrow them,” she said, struggling to get the next part out as she’d rehearsed thousands of times on the way home. “I was hoping you’d do me the honor of allowing me to cook dinner for you tonight? It’s the least I can do, to show my gratitude.”

She held her breath, fingers pulling at the fabric of her skirt so much it was a wonder she didn’t tear a gaping hole in it.

Fram smiled. “Why, I’d be honored! Are you sure it’s alright, though? You did just get back. I’m sure you must be exhausted.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” Bilba all but shrieked, happiness exuding from every pore. It was all she could do to not start turning cartwheels in the grass. “I look forward to seeing you.”

He nodded and turned away, and Bilba all but skipped away, wearing a grin so big she was sure her face would crack.

Fram hadn't known she existed before she wanted to borrow his pony and cart and now he was coming over for dinner! Life could not possibly go any better.

Bilba rushed home and tore through the front door. It vaguely occurred to her that she’d left the door opened when she’d headed out, and now it was closed, but the thought soon vanished from her mind in light of her excitement.

It was just before noon which gave her an insanely short time in which to prepare. It would have been better to wait another day or so but she’d been waiting years already, now was the time to ACT.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning, racing to the market, and cooking.

By the time dinner arrived, Bilba was nearly dead on her feet, but looked perfectly respectable. Well, almost perfectly respectable, there was only so much she could do with her hair but she'd dug out the ribbons and fripperies some relation or another had given her years ago and put them on the best she could. She’d also pulled out her best dress and, even better, had a feast laid out that would put to shame all those blockheaded girls who kept mooning over Fram every time he walked by.

She wasn’t sure what his favorite food was, so she’d erred on the side of caution and prepared it all. There was fish, chicken, and roast pork, ripe tomatoes, mushrooms, carrots, and some she didn’t even know the name of but thought they looked good. Puddings and jams and desserts, and at least five varieties of soup lined the table, the counters and even the tops of nearby cabinets. The weight of it caused her table to sag just a bit in the middle and Bilba chewed on her lip in distress, hoping it would hold.

A knock sounded on the door.

Bilba jumped, her heart leaping in her chest. Suddenly nervous, she shook her arms out to try and loosen up, bounced on her toes a few times, and let out a deep breath. Then, she straightened her back, smoothed her dress and hair one last time, and walked to the door.

Another heavy knock sounded and she bit back a grin, thrilled at the fact Fram was apparently so impatient to see her.

She grabbed the doorknob, took one last deep breath, and threw open the door.

To find herself face to face with the most massive Dwarf she’d ever seen.

Bilba’s greeting died in her throat and she stared at him, her mind entirely short circuited.

He, in turn, took in her small frame, and gave a grunt of derision.

“You have got to be joking.”

And the only thought Bilba could conjure was she certainly hoped someone was.


	3. Chapter 3

Bilba had fantasized about multiple scenarios concerning how the evening might go.

Not one of them involved a giant, tattooed Dwarf sitting at her table laying into the feast she’d spent all day preparing.

For FRAM. Not for, what’s his name.

Speaking of that, what WAS his name again? Darlin? Draylin? Stupid-Jerk-Who-Was-Messing-Up-Her-Courtship?

No matter, WHATEVER his name was he most certainly should NOT be sitting at her table eating her food while she sat on a stool nearby and tried desperately to figure out how to get rid of him before Fram arrived.

She felt cold at the mere thought of it. What would Fram think if he showed up right that very second and saw a strange Dwarf in her house? What would her neighbors think? It was bad enough to be unchaperoned with another HOBBIT, let alone a random Dwarf.

For Fram she’d planned to leave the doors and windows open, maybe even suggest eating outside, for propriety. If things continued, not that she’d thought that far ahead of course, she’d ask Priscilla to chaperone them.

When Draw—whatever-his-name-was showed up she was so stunned she didn’t react, not even when he’d stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not even when it occurred to her she’d never gotten around to opening the windows because she’d wanted to trap the delicious smells inside and now anyone might have seen him come and her reputation would BE ENTIRELY RUINED AND NEITHER FRAM NOR HER NEIGHBORS WOULD EVER SPEAK TO HER AGAIN!

With a squeak of horror she leapt to her feet, intent on fleeing from the home at once. She’d go and get the Rangers, or the Bounders. She’d insist this confounded DWARF broke in and she stumbled in and immediately fled in horror. She most definitely had not done anything idiotic, like allowing a strange male into her home and she most DEFINITELY had not stayed inside, ALONE, with him where, as Lobelia would no doubt cackle, anything could have happened.

She made it two feet before another knock sounded on the door, rooting her to the spot.

Bilba clasped her hands in front of her face, cold racing through her body.

Fram, it had to be Fram. She’d waited too long and now he was here and how in the world was she going to explain this?

The knocking sounded again and the stupid, idiot Dwarf whose sole purpose in life was to ruin EVERYTHING, raised an eyebrow at her.

“That’ll be the door.”

She hated him. She never hated anyone before so she wasn't entirely sure what it felt like but was pretty sure that was what she felt toward him at the minute. She wanted him to burst into flames and burn into a small pile of ash she could sweep under the rug where Fram wouldn’t see him.

She had to bite her tongue, the pain clearing her head a split second before she unleashed some truly vile, uncivil, yet truly impressive in scope and breath, comments on him.

Curse her blasted manners!

She swallowed past the giant rock that seemed to have lodged in her throat, and stomped down the hall, so angry her feet actually made slight noises as they struck the ground.

When she reached the door she reached for the handle with a shaking hand, still with no idea of what she wanted to say, and flung it open, remembering only at the last second to try and smile.

“Fram! I’m so--”

Her voice trailed off.

It wasn’t Fram at the door.

It was ANOTHER. BLOODY. DWARF.

He was older than the first one, and at least didn’t look like a deranged serial killer (who, again, she'd oh, so intelligently ALLOWED INTO HER HOME). With his white hair and grandfatherly face she’d half expect to find him surrounded by a group of small children, reading them a story.

Not showing up at her door to ruin any possible chance she might have at _some_ semblance of a love life.

He bowed and then straightened again. “Ah, Balin, at your service.”

Years of ingrained manners had Bilba immediately curtseying, her hands sweeping her skirt out to either side in flawless execution, in spite of her simmering rage.

“Bilba Baggins, at yours.”

He nodded and then proceeded to let himself in just like the last one had. Had she somehow missed her home becoming a public meeting spot?

At least he didn’t laugh at her like the last one.

A footstep sounded at the doorway to the kitchen and Balin exclaimed, “Dwalin!”

Bilba watched as the two proceeded to smack their heads together, the crack of bone meeting bone causing her body to wince in involuntary sympathy. Maybe that explained the problem, they had brain damage.

Well, at least she knew the scary looking one’s name now.

Dwalin was dragging Balin back toward the food and Bilba let out a low moan of dismay. By the time Fram showed up everything would be gone, all that hard work, and it would all be eaten by a pair of brain damaged Dwarves.

She took a step or two toward the kitchen, hoping possibly she might be able to save some of the food, when two sharp raps sounded on the door behind her.

That better be Fram.

Maybe if she told him they were her relatives, eight times removed, on her mother’s sister’s third cousin’s grandmother’s side?

Right, because Fram would absolutely want to court a Hobbit with Dwarf blood, no matter how little. It would be odd and the last thing anyone could label Fram or his family as was odd.

Defeat pushed her shoulders down. She honestly didn’t know what to say.

Her head down, she reached out and jerked the door open fast, like yanking a bandage off a wound.

Two more Dwarves stared cheerily at her from the doorway.

The first fleeting thought Bilba had was she never realized Dwarves could be so attractive.

The second, almost hysterical, thought was just how many Dwarves planned on showing up at her door?

The two men bowed and in a near simultaneous voice that spoke of years of shared history, announced,

“Fili!”

“And Kili!”

“At your service!”

They both held a ridiculous amount of weaponry in their arms that they had apparently removed before knocking. As they stepped forward, since no one apparently had to ask before entering her home anymore, Kili, or at least that’s who she thought it was, made a half move like he was going to hand the weapons to her only to abort it when Fili shoved an elbow into his ribs.

Instead he flashed her what he probably thought was a winning smile and proceeded to dump them on her floor next to the door, causing her to flinch in sympathy for the floorboards.

After that he stepped past and began wiping his boots on her mother’s glory box. On any other day she might have objected but, by that point, her mind had malfunctioned to the point it’d left her in an odd stupor so she merely watched as they vanished down the hall toward the others.

This was a dream. Of course it was. It had been a very long day after all. Clearly she’d simply fallen asleep while working. Any minute now Fram would knock on the door and wake her up. She’d open her eyes to the sight of a clean and decidely Dwarf free kitchen, a feast, and her future love waiting on the doorstep.

Yes, that’s what it was, just a dream.

She closed the door and began to walk back toward the kitchen and dining room in an almost daze. It didn’t even surprise her when there was a knock before she reached it.

After all, it was just a dream.

She spun around, went back, and threw open the door, fully prepared to face down a dragon, ogre, troll, or whatever else her subconscious mind had decided to hit her with.

It can hardly be held against her that, of all the things she did expect, a pile of Dwarves and a Wizard was not among them. Though, to be fair, she probably should have.

Fortunately she’d always been a nimble enough person and managed, just barely, to jump out of the way of the falling wall of Dwarves.

Unfortunately, in spite of her nimbleness, she’d never been one for grace which meant she still managed to lose her footing and hit the ground hard, pain barking up her elbows where they struck the floor.

Pain, as in the one thing you don’t generally feel in a dream.

Meaning, as horrifying as the thought was, she was not dreaming.

Noise broke out as the group on the floor struggled to untangle themselves. As they did Gandalf stepped around them all and knelt to help her up.

Had she really managed to be so deluded that she'd convinced herself Gandalf had changed his mind that morning and decided to leave her alone? She should have known better. In fact, scratch that; Bilba should have jumped back on the cart and fled Hobbiton altogether. Long enough for, if she were very lucky, him to think she was dead.

“Gandalf,” she hissed, as he helped her up. “What is this? Why are all these Dwarves in my house?”

“Well I invited them of course,” he said, rising to his full height. “You don’t very well expect they all just showed up on their own do you?”

And with that he turned and swept off down the hallway, the group trailing after them. Most of them stopped and nodded to her, introducing themselves as they went, but there was little chance of her ever remembering even half their names.

Well, except for Fi -- Fali and Bali? Feely and Keely? Fine, she wouldn't even remember their names.

Loud shouting and general bedlam could now be heard from her kitchen and dining room. Bilba sighed and walked over to a chair near the door, sinking down into it. She stretched her legs out in front of her and banged her head on the wall behind her.

Perhaps she’d been too hard on her mother. Perhaps Belladonna too, had merely been a victim of circumstance, of Gandalf showing up on her doorstep and giving her no choice but to participate.

It was enough to cause Bilba to feel sorry for her, though not nearly as sorry as she felt for herself.

A crash from the kitchen had her back on her feet, body tense. That BETTER not have been her mother’s china.

She stomped down the hall, intent on possibly getting her sword out and running the lot of them out at swordpoint. Granted, the weapon wasn’t exactly high quality, and it was only a sword to HER. Humans, and possibly Dwarves, would probably call it a glorified dagger but, regardless, it was sharp, and would get the point across, literally.

The thought was warming up to her as she rounded the corner and was nearly brained by one of her best dishes flying past her face.

In horror she followed its path, and watched as what's-his-name, the Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf, caught it and sent it flying into her kitchen. A moment later a second dish flew past and she turned to see Blond Pretty Dwarf sending more dishes flying down, catching them from someone in her dining room.

She was going to kill them. She was actually going to kill them and bury them in her yard. Then her garden would do exceedingly well for the summer and everyone would wonder just how she’d done it and she’d simply smile and say it was an old family secret and no one would ever be the wiser.

Another plate flew toward her and her hand shot out and caught it without thinking. Blond Pretty Dwarf looked impressed but, before she could say anything to him, she heard the sound of her cutlery being banged about in what better not be idiots playing sword fighting.

She ran toward the offending sound, slapping the plate against Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf’s chest as she did, ignoring how broad and firm said chest was, in the process.

Bilba spun around the corner and skidded to a stop at the sight of the Dwarves pounding her knives and forks together, and on the table. Another dish flashed past her head and she realized the two blockheads in the hallway had started up again, apparently in time to the pounding of her best cutlery.

“Stop that!” she commanded, “you’ll blunt them!”

“Oh,” a random Dwarf said, sounding very concerned. “Hear that, lads? We’ll blunt the knives.”

Apparently this was some kind of trigger phrase as it promptly sent the lot of them into a suspiciously choreographed song and dance routine whose sole purpose seemed to be in causing her to become so angry she did something drastic.

Unluckily for them, she was long, LONG past that point.

In fact, she was getting her sword.

Spinning on one heel she went past a Dwarf in the process of throwing her best salad bowl through the air and stomped down the hall.

She made it to her room, dropped to her knees at the foot of her bed and threw open the hope chest. It took a few seconds to unearth but she finally hauled out the sword hidden at the bottom.

Really long dagger, whatever, it was sharp and pointy.

It was also old, in awful condition, and terrible quality but it’d been the best her mother could do and, for the moment at least, she was glad to have it.

The hilt felt comfortable in her hand, cool wrapped leather and metal, and the weight barely tugged at her arm as she turned to go back. She held it loose at her side, ready to go as soon as she got back –

A knock sounded on the door just as she began to walk past it and she whirled to face it. It’d be just her luck that NOW Fram would show up, just in time to see her with a sword in her hand.

Well, her mind supplied almost hysterically, why not? It wasn’t as if a platoon of Dwarves tromping into her home had gone unnoticed. Her reputation was already shot, might as well make sure it was well and truly dead.

Bilba grabbed the door and yanked it open, her mouth open to say something witty and brilliant to let Fram know he was missing out by judging her.

The words died in her throat.

Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf and Blond Pretty Dwarf had nothing on the Dwarf currently standing in her doorway.

He towered over her, tall even for a Dwarf, with a strong jaw and piercing sapphire blue eyes. He was broad and rugged, with a short trim beard and hair that, while longer and wavier than Priscilla could hope for on her best day, did nothing to dissuade the air of masculinity he practically exuded from every pore.

In short he was breathtaking. The single most beautiful, and attractive, person she’d ever met, to the point that every word she knew, in all five languages, utterly escaped her mind.

And then he had to go open his mouth and utterly ruin it.

His eyes had lit on her sword the moment she’d opened the door, amusement dancing in them, and now he gave her a lazy grin.

“Don’t you think you should give that to an adult before you hurt yourself?”

Something inside her snapped, which was a surprise as she didn't think there was anything left TO snap, and she reacted before she thought about it.

She slapped him.

The crack of her hand echoed through the entryway. She heard a strangled sound behind her and realized, belatedly, the rest of the Dwarves had come into the room to greet the newcomer.

He, in turn, was staring at her, his eyes wide.

Bilba jerked her hand down, palm stinging, and felt heat flood her face. Stepping forward she ducked under his elbow, which was thrust out to one side as his hand grasped his own sword hilt, and out the door. He made no attempt to touch her, though she couldn’t tell if it was due to worry over the sword she still carried or continued shock over her smacking him upside the head as he so richly deserved.

Regardless, no one attempted to stop her as she marched down the road, tip of her sword digging in the dirt and face burning.

She took it back. He wasn’t beautiful, the Pretty Dwarves were a thousand times better looking, even without the voice so deep a bass it’d nearly vibrated her bones as he’d spoke.

He was an ass, just like the rest of them and she sincerely hoped they all burst into flame and became moron sized piles of ash she could sweep out the front door.

Well…maybe not the Dark Haired Pretty One…or the Blond Haired Pretty one, they were the least obnoxious of the lot of them. And they were young too, that much was obvious, so there was still hope they could escape the lunacy of the rest of them.

She regretted hitting him with her left hand.

She should have used her right.

It was the one holding the hilt of the sword.


	4. Chapter 4

“And then…”

Bilba dropped her head, hands clutched around the cup of tea on the table before her.

Across from her, Priscilla gave her a sympathetic look and gently prodded. “And then?”

Bilba sighed, shame flooding her voice. “And then I slapped him.”

From the other room came a loud snort of laughter that cut off immediately when Priscilla shot a glare so potent it undoubtedly cut straight through the wall.

 “It isn’t funny!” Bilba wailed. “I have an entire troupe of dwarves in my house! I hit one of them, really hard, right in front of his friends! At least I’m assuming they were his friends. He showed up at my house so he must have known them somehow.”

Priscilla winced. “Maybe they didn’t notice.”

“They noticed.” Bilba pushed the cup away and folded her arms on the table, dropping her head down in despair. “He’ll probably have a mark.” She shuddered. Yes, the idiot had deserved it but, still, she had never hit ANYONE in her LIFE, much less a total stranger on her doorstep!

“Want to know the worst part?” She mumbled.

Priscilla looked worried. “It gets worse?”

Bilba nodded, without lifting her head. She didn’t bring up marching through the Shire, at night, with a sword. Priscilla already knew about that part.

“I invited Fram to dinner and he never showed up. He probably saw the commotion and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.”

She finally lifted her head and saw a puzzled cross Priscilla’s face. “Fram? Fram Harfoot?”

Bilba nodded. “What’s that look for?”

Priscilla looked about to speak and then stopped at the look of abject misery on Bilba’s face. “Nothing. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

“You have an optimistic view of the world bordering on the delusional,” Bilba muttered.

She sighed and pushed to her feet. Now that her adrenaline had faded the fatigue from the day returned with force, dragging at her body. It felt like she was being physically pressed down toward the floor.

 “Why don’t you spend the night here?” Priscilla offered. “I’m sure things will look better in the morning.”

“Pretty sure it won’t,” Bilba said. “Especially if there are still dwarves in my house.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re gone by now,” Priscilla said, getting up as well. “They wouldn’t impose so much as to spend the night!”

They had imposed enough to barge into her house and eat all her food. Bilba had no doubt they’d impose enough to stay the night. She could picture them stumbling around, half asleep the next morning.

A brief image of what Pretty Dark Haired Dwarf might look like in the morning flashed through her mind and her face warmed yet again. She quickly looked out the window to hide it.

Behind her, Priscilla chewed on her lip for a moment before saying, “if you want, Seth can go back with you, to make sure they’re gone.”

“No,” Bilba said. “It’s alright.” She could just see Seth trying to forcibly get rid of the tattooed Dwarf, Dwalin, much less any of the rest of them. Even the Pretty Dwarves had been heavily armed and she didn’t think they’d been carrying them for show.

Anyway, in spite of being rude and boorish, none of the strangers had acted in a way that made her feel nervous or afraid. Even the one she’d hit hadn’t made any effort to come after her or threaten her.

Not to mention Gandalf was there and, regardless of what she thought of him, he had been a good friend to her mother. It came as something of a surprise but she realized she actually trusted him. He’d dragged her mother off on all manner of crazy adventures, but she’d always returned safe and sound.

An image of sitting in a chair, staring at her own blood stained, dirty feet flashed through her mind and Bibla flinched.

Gandalf hadn't been there when she'd lost everything, and Bilba couldn't help but think that, perhaps if he had been, things would have been far different.

No, the world was the only thing that had ever brought physical harm to her mother, or her family.  Gandalf, and anyone he brought with him, posed no threat to anything but her reputation and, at the moment, she was far to tired to care about that as much as she probably should.  

She collected her sword and bid Seth and Priscilla good-bye, thanking them again for allowing her to barge in on them so late. Priscilla hugged her at the door, reassuring her it really would be alright. Bilba managed a forced smile and then trudged outside.

Technically she should have at least allowed Seth to escort her to her door but, really, it was right up the hill. She doubted Orcs would leap out at her on her way. Besides, she’d imposed on them enough as it was.

Outside the night was pleasantly cool and a fat, full moon shone down from overhead. The light cast the landscape in a silver, almost otherworldly glow, and Bilba found her footsteps slowing. As a child she’d often spent her nights camping outside, running through the woods in chase of mystical creatures she was convinced lived in the glow of the moon.

Off on her own adventures like the ones her mother told her about. Belladonna had been labeled by the Shire for them but, in the end, it wasn't so bad a price to pay for so very much fun and excitment.

And then her mother convinced them all to go on an adventure of their own. Mother, Father, her little brother Bungo, and her. A grand, wild adventure off to see the Elves. Finally she'd be able to live all the tales, meet her mother's friends, enjoy all the sights, and see what lay beyond the borders of the Shire.

And so they'd set out.

And only Bilba had come back.

And she couldn't even remember why, her mind too traumatized to recall anything past the time they'd set out to the time she'd shown up on the Thain's doorstep, clothing soaked in blood, eyes vacant.

She hadn't spoken for two years.

During that time she'd traded in her trousers for a skirt; cut her messy hair short enough to fake it was behaving, hid her sword except for once a year on her mother's birthday when she practiced to honor her, and became proper. She was not odd, not unnatural, and most certainly not a Disturber of the Peace.

She was respectable, like Fram and his family, who had never once set foot outside the Shire and had never gone back to their home to find the once noisy halls silent, the rooms quietly waiting for the return of those who would never come.

Grief tightened her throat but she steadfastly pushed it aside. It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to dwell on the past.  Going to Bree had been a mistake, as short and safe a trip as it was, even if done for the right reasons. It had been immature and had awoken long buried memories she'd like very much to leave in the past. She was happy the way she was and had no desire to change.

A sound drew her attention and she looked to the side. To her everlasting surprise, and horror, she watched as none other than Fram Harfoot ducked from behind a tree and stepped onto the path leading down toward his house.

Before she could react, Fram saw her and his eyes widened. He jumped and bowed in her direction. “Bilba! How nice to see you! I didn’t expect you to be out so late!”

I didn’t expect YOU to be out so late, Bilba thought, but she wasn’t one to talk so kept quiet. No doubt, knowing Fram, he’d been out helping someone in need of aid. It was so like him and she felt her heart swell at his selflessness.

She took a breath and shook off her melancholy, trying to focus on the present. Not the past where the ghost of everyone she'd ever loved beckoned and certainly not the future where a pack of irritating dwarves waited. Just the present, with Fram.

He didn’t comment on her being alone or on the sword she was dragging along with her. It was always one of the things she loved about him. In spite of how perfectly proper he was he never commented on the impropriety of others.

“I’m sorry,” Bilba said. “About dinner. I didn’t know all those Dwarves were going to show up.”

“Ah, yes,” Fram stuttered. He looked startled for a moment, then his expression smoothed over. “I heard you’d had guests. I suppose these things happen from time to time.”

Bilba wondered when the last time was that a large group of completely strange dwarves had randomly shown up on someone's doorstep, but let it slide. It was enough Fram was still willing to acknowledge her after she'd basically stood him up.

"Perhaps we can do it another time," she said, tentatively.

"Of course!" Fram said, cheerily. "I would never miss a chance to try your excellent cooking!"

Bilba blinked. “Really?” Against all odds had fate truly seen fit to give her another chance?

“Well, of course!” He said. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on your cooking just because of a few uninvited guests!”

A thrill of hope blossomed in Bilba; maybe all wasn’t so lost after all. “Okay,” she said, a shy smile on her lips. “I’d like that.”

Fram nodded. “It’s settled then. Another time!” He gave her another nod and then walked on past, whistling on his way.

Bilba watched him go, her adoration for him increasing to truly epic levels. That, right there, was why Fram was the most perfect Hobbit to ever exist. Only he would be willing to overlook everything and give her a second chance.

Had she been less exhausted she might have given into fits of excitement but, as it was, she merely felt hopeful and it was with a lighter step that she turned back toward home.

It was only as she reached her door that her steps began to falter once more. She had no doubt they were all still there, she’d have heard if they all left, either literally or courtesy of nosey Hobbits running to tell her.

Maybe they’d all be asleep, it was pretty late.

PLEASE let them all be asleep.

She gripped the doorknob, the metal cool under her hand, and tried to open the door.

Her body balked, acid crawling up her throat and her stomach doing an impressive dance routine in her stomach. The thought of facing them, after what she’d done, was MORTIFYING.

Couldn’t she just drop dead right now and avoid the whole mess?

“You know,” a voice drawled, sounding amused, “if that door is bothering you I’d be happy to run it through.”

Bilba jumped about a foot and slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking. Didn’t ANYONE sleep at night anymore?

She jerked around and found herself face to face with Pretty Blond Dwarf. He held a pipe loosely in one hand, and appeared to have come from the direction of her roof.

This meant he’d probably seen her walk home and her interaction with Fram.

Honestly, death from humiliation was an acute possibility. Maybe she should be the one to burst into flames, if only to avoid bringing more shame on her family name.

“Are you alright?” He continued. “We were worried about you but Gandalf said to leave you alone.”

He glanced back toward the roof and Bilba suddenly had a bizarre thought, had he actually been waiting for to come back?

“You were worried?” She said in surprise. “After I…um….after--”

“I didn’t catch what he said,” came the dry reply, “but, knowing him as I do, I imagine he probably had it coming. He’s a good sort, really. He just has a bad habit of--”

“Opening his mouth?” Bilba cut in, and then immediately clapped her hand back over his own. Speak for yourself, Bilba.

He grinned. His eyes tracked to her sword and he held a hand out. “May I?”

She nodded and handed it over. “Sure, but I can save you the trouble and tell you it’s not very good. My mother bought it off a group of humans and I think they got it off an Orc or something.”

A very small Orc, with short stubby arms. That or an Orc so bad with weapons they’d given him a short one in the desperate hope he wouldn’t accidentally stab his own kin with it. Did Orc even have kin?

Pretty Blond Dwarf, and she really wished she could remember his name, lifted the sword and examined it. The night cast parts of his face in shadow while bringing out other areas in sharp relief and Bilba found her fingers itching for her sketchpad and pencils for the first time in a long time. She’d stopped drawing after her family, her inspiration and joy in it gone.

Now, however, to her surprise she could feel the fire reigniting. She could picture herself sketching the strong lines of his face, the coarse strands of hair and the intricate braids, the inquisitive look as he examined the blade like it actually mattered and he wasn’t just showing polite interest.

His eyes flicked to her and she realized she was staring. Quickly she jerked her head down but not before she caught the hint of a smile as he turned his attention back to the sword.

“It’s serviceable,” he said after a moment, handing it back. “It’s not pretty but it’ll get the job done. Are you any good with it?”

Bilba shrugged. “Probably better than any Hobbit but I don’t know how well I’d do against someone with actual experience. My mother always insisted I know how to protect myself.” Not that it had done any good in the end.

She shoved the thought aside, refusing to let it bring her down, and rolled her eyes at him. “Because we get so much danger in the Shire.”

He laughed, his eyes moving to take in the landscape. “Yes, I can see. The hills are near to crawling with threats even now. We’d best be on our guard.”

Now it was Bilba’s turn to grin. Somewhere along the line the clenching in her stomach had eased and her intestines had stopped turning cartwheels.

Blond Pretty Dwarf gestured toward the door. “Well, shall we?”

He had been waiting for her, she was sure of it. She nearly hugged him.

Instead she nodded and stepped to the side. He reached out and opened the door and then nodded at her to precede him. Bilba took a deep breath, feeling less like she was entering an Orc’s den now that she wasn’t alone, and walked in.

He stepped in behind her and closed the door. Inside the house was dark and silent, though she could see the flickering from the main room suggesting a fire was going in the fireplace.

“Most of them are sleeping in there,” He said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The rest Gandalf showed to guest rooms. Hopefully that’s all right.”

Bilba nodded, more shame flooding her. Uninvited or not they were her guests and she should have been there to play a proper hostess.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her own voice dropping to a whisper as well. “You must think me horribly rude.”

He chuckled. “Not at all. Gandalf confessed he’d decided to play a prank on you by not informing you we were coming. You can imagine how embarrassed we all were to realize we’d barged into your home without invitation.”

“It’s alright,” Bilba said immediately. It wasn’t but, then, she couldn’t fault him now could she? It was all Gandalf’s fault, as usual.

He gave a nod. “I do wonder, though, how it was you happened to have so much food laid out if you didn’t know we’d be arriving.”

Bilba stammered for a moment. There was NO way she was telling them about her foiled date!

“I like to cook,” she said lamely, “I usually make large meals and then invite people over during the week.”

Which didn’t explain why she’d had it all set out at the same time on the table.

He either didn’t catch on, or was kind enough to let it go. “I understand.” He straightened, and then indicated the kitchen. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to explain why we’re here.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Bilba said, her voice rising for a second before she clamped it back down again.

She led the way to the kitchen, tensing at the expectation of what she’d find. To her shock, however, she found the kitchen, and dining room next to it, in flawless condition. Every dish, cup and spoon had been thoroughly washed and put back in its proper place.

Again, shame hit her. Even her mother, with all her eccentricities, would have been a more gracious and polite host.

“Would you like some tea?” She offered, desperately trying to recoup at least some of her manners.

He agreed and she hurried to make it, soon setting two saucers and two cups of steaming liquid on the table. She added whatever she could think of that he might like to add to the drink and then set one of the smaller candles in the center to add more light.

As he sat down she had another strong urge to draw him and felt a surge of happiness at the thought. She’d sincerely missed her drawing, she was glad it was coming back.

She sat down across from him and waited for him to get a drink and relax a moment before he started.

“Alright,” he finally said. “So, here it is.

And, with that, he launched into an epic tale of dragons and lost kingdoms, royalty in exile, and a desperate journey to reclaim a lost homeland. So engrossing was the tale she hardly noticed when Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf arrived, though she did get up almost automatically to get him a cup of tea as well.

It was, after all, the proper thing to do.

Finally, a long time later, he leaned back in his seat and said, “and that’s it.”

Bilba studied the map he’d placed on the table, one hand idly tracing over it. “So,” she said slowly, “what you’re saying then is I slapped a King.”

Fili, as she’d re-learned was his name, had been in the process of taking a drink and almost spit it out as he choked. “That entire tale and THAT’S what you get out of it?” Beside him Kili had dropped his head on the table and was laughing silently, his shoulders shaking.

Bilba chewed on her lip. “Well, wouldn’t you?” Her voice dropped and she leaned forward in her seat, “is he going to have me executed? I probably left a mark! He'll have to explain it!”

Kili snorted and looked at her. "I think he'd rather chew his own arm off first. Not to mention you didn't hit him that hard. It'd be twice as embarrassing if you'd left a mark."

"Anyway," Fili said. "It's his own fault for letting his guard down like that. Imgaine if you'd been an Orc or Goblin."

Bilba barely heard him.  Even if he didn't have her executed what if did something worse and lodged a complaint to the Thain? Her shoulders sagged. Assaulting royalty, forget odd or unnatural, she’d be sent straight to Disturber of the Peace and universally shunned by all gentle folk of the Shire.

She looked back toward Fili again. “Should I apologize? Maybe in front of everyone or something?”

“I think it would probably be better if you never mentioned it again.” Fili said.

“Ever.” Kili agreed.

“To anyone,” Fili continued.

Bilba’s eyes flicked back and forth between them as they spoke. Fili had already referred to Kili as his brother at one point during the story but, even if he hadn’t, she’d have caught on just by the way they seemed so deeply in tune with one another.

The thought brought pain. Would she and her brother have been as close?

Fili’s eyes narrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Bilba said, instantly, shaking off the memories and pulling herself back on topic. Yes, back on topic, where she’d physically assaulted a KING.

"Anyway, I fail to see what this has to do with me," she said. "I mean. I understand everything you said, but I still don't see what I have to do with it."

The brothers exchanged a look, then Fili gestured for her to wait a minute, got up, and left the room. He was back a moment later, a thick, folded square of paper in one hand. He carefully set it down in front of her. Bilba frowned, but picked it up and unfolded it.

"What is this? She asked, her eyes running over the words. "A contract? Whatever for? It--"

Her voice trailed off, and ice settled deep inside her bones. "No."

"You don't even know--" Kili started to say but Bilba was already shaking her head, rising to her feet.

"I said no."

Fili looked confused. "But Gandalf said--"

"Gandalf doesn't know me," Bilba said, her voice laced with anger.  "He knew my mother. She was the one always running off without a thought as to what she was getting involved in. That's not me. I'm respectable! I don't do the unexpected and I CERTAINLY don't run off to get incinerated by a dragon with a bunch of people I've never met!"

She shoved the paper back across the table toward him, as though it were a snake poised to strike. “I am sorry, but you’ve simply got the wrong Baggins.”

She began to walk past them toward her bedroom. As she did Fili’s voice floated behind her.

“How many respectable Hobbits have slapped Kings, or carry swords through the Shire? You sell yourself short, my Lady.”

Bilba paused, and then continued walking without giving an answer.

She couldn't begin to imagine what Gandalf had been thinking but she did know one thing.

Nothing good came of adventures. Nothing but blood and pain.

And she was done with both.


	5. Chapter 5

Bilba drifted slowly to consciousness, feeling the warmth of the just rising sun beating through her window.

She stretched languidly, relaxing into her bed. She’d had the STRANGEST dream the night before, of Dwarves and exiled Kings and reckless quests -–

A clatter sounded from her kitchen, followed by a shushing sound, and reality crashed back in.

It hadn’t been a dream.

It all happened and, even at that moment, there were Dwarves in her house.

Bilba groaned and ran her hands over her face. She’d rather spend the day with Lobelia than face them but, with a sigh, she forced herself up and began to get ready. She had never been a morning person so there was only so much she could do to make herself presentable. Eventually she looked in the mirror, noted the frizzy hair, the still sleep heavy eyes, and the blotchy spot on one side of her head where she’d slept on it, and shrugged. Close enough and, besides, she doubted the lot of them would look much better after a night sleeping in someone else’s home.

Squaring her shoulders, and leaving her sword in her hope chest this time, she opened her door, and immediately smelled the wonderful aroma of eggs and bacon wafting in from the kitchen.

She walked out slowly, arms wrapped around her chest, bracing to have to face a litany of Dwarves and general awkwardness.

To her surprise, she didn’t see any. She also didn’t hear the amount of noise she’d expect from that many Dwarves, and a Wizard.

Another clatter sounded from the kitchen and she heard the low murmur of voices. SOMEONE was there.

She glanced down the hall and into the living room and saw it was empty and perfectly clean. Another look in the dining room also showed it was empty.

Finally, the only room left was the kitchen.

Bilba took a deep breath and steeled herself. She uncrossed her arms, then re-crossed them, then finally settled for keeping her arms down with her hands clasped.

Then she strode into the kitchen.

The first thing she saw was a large, red headed Dwarf, with a thick braided beard, humming away at her stove. She vaguely remembered him from the night before; he’d been in the group that nearly fell on her.

Fili and Kili were seated at one end of the small kitchen table, their heads close together, speaking in quick hushed whispers.

She didn’t see Gandalf anywhere, lucky for him, as she had more than a few choice words for the wizard. That is if she ever decided to speak to him again.

For a second Bilba relaxed, then her eyes caught the flicker of motion from her right. She turned to look and immediately froze.

Because there, sitting in the shadows with a cup in front of him, was none other than His Royal Exiled Highness Himself and he was EVEN MORE BREATHTAKING IN SPITE OF IT BEING MORNING AND HE HAD TO HAVE JUST GOTTEN UP AND HAD NO RIGHT TO LOOK THAT GOOD.

He made eye contact, and yes, his eyes really WERE that blue and not just a trick of the light the night before. He opened his mouth to speak.

Bilba spun away and stepped toward the stove managing to somehow trip on the way and nearly kill herself in the process.

“Hi,” she said, speaking just a little too loud and a little too fast to the Dwarf at her stove. “I’m sorry; you don’t need to do that. I’m more than happy to prepare breakfast. You’re my guests!”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” came the soft spoken response, “I rather like cooking myself. I saved some for you if you like.”

He indicated a large serving of bacon, eggs, sausage and biscuits set aside on a warming plate.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, stepping aside, “it looks delicious.”

She made no comment on the fact it was her own food or that she’d need to go to the market, again, to buy more as she’d emptied out her pantry the night before.

She sat down next to Kili, putting him between her and Master-Unfairly-Good-Looking-For-So-Early-In-The-Morning.

If she were very, very lucky, she could get away with never having to speak to him. They’d all go on their way, she’d go restock her pantry, invite Fram to another dinner, and life would move on.

“I believe you are owed an apology.”                  

The voice, a low bass that seemed to rumble through the table, could only come from one person and Bilba sighed. Nothing could ever just go the way she wanted could it?

She had no idea what he was apologizing for, being an obnoxious ass or inadvertently barging in on her home?

She kept her face fixed on her plate and decided to go with the second choice. Fili and Kili had been pretty adamant on her not mentioning the first one. “It wasn’t your fault, it’s that idiot wizard.”

“Still,” he continued, “we intruded, however, unknowingly and for that I apologize.” He was silent, seeming to struggle with something, and then gave a slight sigh. “I also need to apologize for my own rudeness. It was inexcusable.”

Great, he just had to go and be all kingly and regal didn’t he? No excuses, no trying to dance around it, just straight up took responsibility and apologized. Bilba sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, grimacing at the feel of grit still in her eyes. Did he have to apologize when she was still half asleep?

Now she had no choice. What did Fili say the name was again? Thorin Oaken-something or other? Did he go by Your Majesty? Or maybe Master So-And-So Sorry I Forgot Part of Your Name?

Forget it; she’d just get around it by not using his name at all.

She chewed on her lip, and then stood up. Next to her Fili and Kili both stopped talking and looked at her in confusion.

Bilba looked at Thorin OakenWhatever, and was immediately hypnotized by those stunning eyes of his, blast it all. The second she was done drawing a picture of Fili she was drawing one of him she decided.

She inhaled, and forged ahead. “I accept your apology, misguided as it is, and offer one of my own.” She heard Kili make a strangled sound and barely avoided rolling her eyes. “I behaved very rudely myself and, for that, I apologize.”

There, that should make the Pretty Twins happy. She’d apologized for it without actually talking ABOUT it, problem solved.

His expression was unreadable, but he inclined his head, regally of course; in what she assumed was acceptance.

“I believe,” Bilba went on, “that we were never properly introduced.” She curtseyed. “Bilba Baggins, at your service.”

She didn’t expect him to get up but, to her surprise, he did just that. “Thorin Oakenshield, at yours.”

Okenshield, that was it. She knew it was Oaken something.

He sat back down and she did the same, breaking eye contact through sheer force of will. Belatedly she wondered if she should have waited for him to dismiss her.

No, it was her house. He should be waiting for HER to dismiss HIM.

Still, she was glad they’d cleared the air between them. Obviously she had misjudged him the night before.

Bilba looked at Fili. “Where did everyone go?”

He looked up from where he and Kili had been intently staring at one another, apparently having some sort of weird staring contest, or trying to kill each other with their minds. “They headed to Bree. We’ll be heading out soon but wanted to stay and make sure to apologize first.”

Bilba wasn’t sure why that took four of them but she nodded and looked back to her food. “Did Gandalf leave as well?”

“He went to see the others to the edge of Hobbiton,” Kili said. “He’ll be returning soon.”

“Good,” she said darkly. “I have a few things to say to him.”

“As do I,” Thorin’s voice said. “He has cost me time we do not have. Had I known what you were when we set out I wouldn’t have wasted the time it took in getting here.”

Bilba paused, a spoonful of food halfway to her mouth.

She hadn’t misjudged him after all.

Well, there was really no reason to respond. After all she had already informed Fili and Kili she wasn’t interested in going so Thorin’s comments simply cemented her decision.

And, regardless, a proper Hobbit did not argue with guests. Even impossibly good looking ones who utterly ruined the image every time they opened their mouth.

Thorin, unfortunately, made the choice to continue speaking. “When he said he knew of an excellent burglar, by the name of Bilba Baggins, I naturally assumed he spoke of a trained, male warrior, not an untrained slip of a girl barely out of childhood.”

Bilba chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and then carefully set her fork down. She looked up to see Fili staring at her and smiled. His eyes immediately went wide but Bilba was already standing up and turning to face Thorin.

“I can understand your ignorance,” she said, mildly, deliberately stressing the word ignorance. “Though I admit it surprises me to hear an exiled King couldn’t be bothered to learn the first thing about someone he potentially sought to hire.”

Thorin closed his mouth, his first intelligent choice since they’d met, looking startled.

“So, since you couldn’t be bothered,” she continued, “I’ll enlighten you. First and foremost, names in the Shire that end in an ‘o’ are masculine, names that end in an ‘a’ are feminine. Therefore, the very fact my name is Bilba, and not Bilbo would show you I was female. Of course you could also have simply asked Gandalf but I assume that would have been far too much effort for one so grand as you.”

Thorin looked like he’d been carved from stone. Fili and Kili were both making noises that sounded suspiciously like they were choking to death and even the large Dwarf at the stove had stopped moving to listen to her.

“Second,” Bilba continued, her voice still perfectly pleasant in every way, “I happen to be tall for a Hobbit and, as you can see, am quite old enough to live on my own without supervision.”

Okay, those were both a bit of a stretch. She was tall for a Hobbit, but her frame had always been small and described as being on the delicate side even without the sword training, tragically un-Hobbit like in every respect. She was also allowed to live on her own because Priscilla and Seth checked on her regularly and the Thain had control of her finances until she got out of her Tweens and reached her majority.

That and half the Hobbits were superstitious and believed letting her live with them would curse their families to similar fates, while the other half believed she was corrupted thanks to her mother and didn't want her spreading the bad influence into their own homes.

But Thorin didn’t need to know all that.

“And third,” she continued, and now heat started to rise in her voice and her hands, clasped demurely in front started to clench till her knuckles turned white, “I’ll have you know that I already refused to go on your idiotic quest and, in fact, I’d like to know just whose harebrained idea it was anyway? Do you honestly think you’re just going to march in, avoid a DRAGON, find your precious arkenrock in a PILE of treasure, and walk back out?”

As she spoke her voice rose, growing harsher. Thorin meanwhile, was looking more and more thunderous, one hand clenching around the cup until cracks began to appear in it. Dimly, a warning bell began to ring in Bilba’s mind but she was far to wound up to pay heed to it.

“And then what? You go marching back to your kinsman, who ignored you when you first asked for their help and expect them to change their mind? All because you have a shiny rock you didn’t have the first time? How does that make the LEAST bit of sense? They know who you are, if they had the slightest bit of honor they’d have agreed to help you the first time you asked and not demanded you go on some fool’s quest to try and prove you’re worthy of their time! Don’t--”

Two things happened at the same time.

Thorin leapt to his feet, his eyes dark. The chair he’d sat in flew backwards and hit the wall with a clatter.

At the same time Kili, seated in front of her, also leapt up. As he did he spun in place and, in one smooth motion, proceeded to grab Bilba and throw her over his shoulder.

“What? Kili! Put me down!”

She lashed out with her hands, tangling them in the back of his shirt, and tried to kick him with her feet but he easily ignored her. The world swung crazily and she realized Kili was headed toward the front door, carefully edging around Thorin as he did.

Fili stepped in front of them both. “So anyway, we’ll head out to the market and replace her pantry like you wanted. Back in a bit!”

Then she was being carried like a sack of grain down her own hallway and out her front door. The last sight she had was of Thorin standing in her hallway watching her go.

For a second, as they went out the door, Bilba made eye contact with him, and paused.

The look in his eyes was one of anger as she would expect, but there was also something else she did not expect.

The emotion was dark, and one she’d seen in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror.

Pain.


	6. Chapter 6

The door closed and Kili set her back on her feet. He tried to help her straighten her clothes but she slapped his hands away and began to stomp down toward the market.

“Curse that Dwarf, and his entire bloodline!” She said angrily, even as confusion raged inside her. She didn’t know what to make of him. One second he was royal and the next a royal jackass. One moment he looked like he wanted to kill her and the next looked to be in so much pain she simply wanted to hug him.

And that was all in just two meetings with him!

“There’s no reason to curse all of us,” Kili said, taking up pace beside her. “It’s not our fault Uncle has a bad habit of not thinking before he speaks.”

Bilba stopped dead in the middle of the path, so hard that Fili, walking behind her, nearly ran over her.

She turned to look at Kili. “Did you say Uncle?”

He nodded. “Afraid so.”

Bilba nodded, that just figured. It wasn’t the Pretty Twins, it was the Pretty Triplets. She wondered briefly what family reunions must be like. Were they all that pretty or was it just these three?

“Was he dropped on his head as a child?”

Fili looked confused. “What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why he’s such a jerk,” Bilba muttered. "You two seem reasonable enough."

"You should meet our mother," Kili said cheerfully, only to grunt as Fili elbowed him sharply in the side.

Bilba shook her head at their antics, turned and began walking again, at a more measured pace. The sun was still in the process of rising and a cool breeze wound its way along the lane, sliding around her legs and up her body. It was a peaceful morning, as most were in the Shire, and she started to relax in spite of herself.

Only a few others were out and about, though the market was already set up and waiting for her. As Bilba went in she saw a number of girls her own age giving Fili and Kili appraising looks.

Oddly, enough, it reminded her of another comment Thorin made.

“How old are you two?”

Fili answered. “I’m 82, Kili is 77.”

Bilba nodded, doing the math in her head. She knew most Dwarves lived around five hundred years, though they reached maturity within the first hundred, which probably put Fili and Kili right about….she snorted. “I knew it.”

“What?” Kili asked.

“We’re the same age, more or less!” She said her voice angry. “It’s not perfect but, going by the respective lifespans of Hobbits and Dwarves, I’m close to the same age as you two. So Thorin OakenJerk lets the two of you along, but calls me a child!”

Fili raised an eyebrow. “OakenJerk?”

Bibla moved forward to a table and began looking through bread. “Well, it’s a more apt name than Okenshield, isn’t it? What kind of name is Oakenshield anyway? Oh, look, I have a shield, and it’s made of wood! Who cares?” She turned to look at them suspiciously, “your last names aren’t Oakenshield are they?”

Kili was unable to answer, doubled over as he was laughing. Fili merely looked amused. “No. Oakenshield isn’t really a last name. It’s a title, earned in battle.”

Bilba snorted. “That’s even dumber then.”

Kili actually collapsed on his knees, both arms wrapped around his stomach as he laughed. Fili kicked him but it made no difference.

Bilba ignored them both and continued to look through the bread. He’d complained of her training, height, age, and gender and not a one of those things held any merit. He hadn't even ASKED about any training she might or might not have. Would he have been more willing to accept her had she been a young, untrained, small, male?

Probably, idiot Dwarf.

 _What does it matter?_ Her Baggins side whispered. _You’ve already decided not to go. His not wanting you just means you won’t have to worry about him trying to convince you._

 _It’s not fair, that’s why!_ Her Took side whispered back rebelliously. _I could go if I wanted to._

_And do what? End up like your mother?_

Bilba stiffened, hand tightening on a loaf of bread.

 _Wouldn’t you like to know what happened?_ That was her Took side again, fully awake now and unwilling to be put back to rest. _Wouldn’t you like to remember?_

Did she?

Thunder crashed in her mind, rain slashing down in cold sheets. She remembered how the water ran off her as she stood in the Thain’s foyer. She could see herself, head down as blood and water spread slowly across the wood floor. She’d been cold, so cold it felt like ice had eaten its way into her very bones and taken up permanent lodging. She’d never be warm again, couldn’t even remember what it felt like to feel anything other than ice.

_Don’t you want to find them? An entire company of Dwarves, and a wizard. You couldn’t be safer._

That was true. She recalled the map Fili showed her the night before, outlining the trip to Erebor.

_You’ll have to pass near Rivendell. You could go with them, just that far, retrace your steps from before._

_Don’t you want to know?_

Did she?

“Bilba!”

Bilba started at the shrill voice, and looked next to her, only to immediately feel her heart sink as she found herself face to face with none other than Poppy Sackville.

Also known as the prettiest girl in Hobbiton, and well aware of it. Where Bilba was much too tall with a much too small frame, Poppy was the perfect size in every way. Where Bilba had short plain hair that refused to obey, Poppy had beautiful, long curls the color of honeysuckle that were always arrayed with ribbons and bows.

She also had a voice that grated on Bilba’s nerves and pranced around everywhere with that stupid umbrella to keep the sun off her skin. And everywhere she went a crowd of eligible bachelors followed close behind.

Now Poppy stood with a basket on her arm, a hat perched on her head, and that idiotic umbrella even through the sun was barely up, eyeing Kili like he was the next item she wanted to put in her basket.

“Sorry to interrupt your daydream,” Poppy said a false smile on her lips. “I just wanted to meet your guests!”

Bilba put the bread down and turned to where Fili and Kili were…apparently comparing knives to see who had the longest. Neither had given the slightest notice to Poppy but both obediently straightened up and paid attention when Bilba cleared her throat, loudly, twice.

“Fili, Kili, this is Poppy. Poppy, may I present the Pre--” She stumbled just before the words Pretty Twins could launch out of her mouth, and recovered with “Princes, Fili and Kili.”

Yes, Princes, that is what she meant to say. Fili was giving her a suspicious look, and Bilba tried to look as innocent as possible.

Beside her, Poppy was gaping. Then, with a gasp, she put the basket down and dropped into a curtsey that nearly had her on the ground.

“Your Highnesses!” She said her voice husky. “I am honored to meet you.”

Bilba snorted, she looked ridiculous.

Poppy jumped up, and practically jumped Fili and Kili, both of whom immediately backed away sending her pleading glances.

Bilba raised an eyebrow, pretending to be oblivious to their predicament, and then casually helped herself to Poppy’s basket. Thanks to Kili she’d left the house without one and they HAD said they’d help her shop.

Casually, she sauntered away, leaving the two behind her. As she did she saw a number of Poppy’s friends arriving and couldn’t hide the grin that spread across her face.

She had no trouble getting everything she wanted, filling her basket until it dragged at her arm. As she moved through the market slowly filled up, the sun rising higher into the sky at the same time. The breeze vanished and a pleasant warmth spread through the area.

Without warning, Fili appeared at her side reaching to take the basket from her. His hair was mussed and his clothing was in disarray as though he’d had multiple people pulling on his sleeves.

“That was a low trick.”

Bilba shrugged. “Says the one who abandoned his brother in order to make his own escape.”

She deliberately looked over to where Poppy and several of her cohorts were even then literally hanging on Kili’s arms. He, in turn, had a look of long suffering and also murderous intent every time he shot a look in Fili’s direction.

Fili looked entirely unrepentant. “That’s not a trick, it’s survival. He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“You know, you didn’t have to mention we were Princes.”

“You didn’t have to throw me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” Bilba responded reasonably.”

Fili sighed. “He really isn’t that bad.”

Bilba looked at him in confusion. “Who? Kili?”

“No,” Fili said, adjusting the basket on his arm. “Thorin. You have to think about how it would look to the others if he sent you in to face a dragon while he waited outside.”

“I don’t see why he’s trying to impress anyone in the first place,” Bilba muttered. “If they were decent they’d help him without forcing him to meet ridiculous requirements first.”

Bilba spotted Fram heading into the market and her heart jumped in her chest. She waved at him, hesitantly, and then grinned as he smiled and waved back.

Fili made an annoyed sound, and looked about to speak again, but Fram arrived at that moment. Bilba jumped, she hadn’t realized he was actually heading over.

“Bilba! You’re out early!”

His eyes slid over to Fili, assessing, and he smiled. “I see your guests are still here.”

Bilba stumbled over her words, hands twisting in the fabric of her skirt once more.“They’re leaving today.” She flapped one hand uselessly in Fili’s direction. “I’d like to introduce you to Fili. The one over there being accosted is his brother, Kili.”

Fram’s voice was neutral. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

Bilba cringed; he didn’t think Fili or Kili had designs on her did he? That’s all she needed was for him to think she was preparing to run off with a pair of Dwarven Princes!

Fili somehow managed to bow perfectly even loaded down with food as he was. When he straightened back up his face was blank and his voice, to her surprise, was utterly devoid of the warmth she’d heard in it up to this point.

The resemblance to Thorin was suddenly striking. 

“If you’re done shopping, Bilba,” he said. “I’ll take these back for you. Also, Uncle wanted the bill given to him. He planned to tell you himself, before he got sidetracked.”

Sidetracked, Bilba thought, that was certainly one way of looking at it.

“Thank you,” she said. “Though it’s not necessary. I was happy to host.”

Lies, and more lies.

Fili nodded again, his bearing every bit as regal as Thorin, and left. On his way out he snared Kili with ease from the midst of the throng of girls.

“Did you find out why they were here?”

“What?” Bilba turned from watching the two walk away, to look at Fram again. “Oh, yeah. It’s kind of complicated actually.”

“Well,” Fram said. “I’m all ears. I’d love to hear it.”

He held an arm out, and Bilba nearly passed out from joy. Shakily she reached out and slid a hand through his arm. He smiled and turned her toward the dock that led out to the lake.

As they walked, Bilba shot a look over her shoulder and saw Poppy staring at her, a strange look on her face. She couldn’t help smirking, before turning back and allowing Fram to lead her to a small bench at the end of the dock.

It was far enough away to give the feeling of being alone together but still close enough to the market, and the rest of Hobbiton, to be in full public view.

Bilba sat down next to him, her body nearly vibrating with happiness. She was sitting with _Fram_. She was talking to him, just the two of them!

He reached out and clasped her hands in his. “Well? Let’s have it.”

And so Bilba told him, everything Fili had explained to her the night before. And, then, because she had gone that far, she told him what she had been thinking about that morning. How going would mean retracing the final steps of her parents.

“I mean, the chances are slim,” she said. “The wild is a big place, and I can’t remember the precise path we took. Not that but I’m not even sure I WANT to know what happened. But, still….”

Her voice trailed off and she fell silent.

Next to her Fram stared down, his face lost in thought, his hands still clutching hers.

Bilba studied him, the crease in his forehead as he considered her words, the veins in his hands as he clutched her hands. Why had she never felt the urge to draw him? She should try, she thought, after her portrait of Fili of course, and maybe Kili…and maybe Thorin though she’d die before letting him know about it.

The only sound was the quiet lapping of the water against the pillars supporting the dock, and the distant sounds of the market.

“Bilba,” Fram said finally. “I think you should go.”

Bilba nearly fell off the bench in shock. “You do?”

He nodded, and finally lifted his head. His eyes were a simple brown, nothing like the jewel tone blue of Thorin’s eyes, or even the rich copper of Fili’s, or the pure, clear black of Kili’s.

“Not the entire way of course,” he continued, “just to Rivendell. I think you owe it to yourself, and your family, to at least try and find out what happened.”

Bilba looked down, a heavy feeling settling in her stomach. “It’s a dangerous journey,” she said. “And a long one. I could be gone for months.”

“It won’t be forever. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Bilba’s breath stilled. Did that mean what she thought it meant? Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. “Do you really mean that?”

He nodded. “I do. You said it yourself; you’ll be safe with an entire company of Dwarves, and a wizard no less.”

“But,” Bilba stammered, “It’s not proper!”

He grinned, one side of his mouth twitching upward, and mirth entered his eyes. “Nothing wrong with a little impropriety now and then, right? Keeps life interesting! At least that’s what your mother always used to say.”

He was right; she did use to say that. Bilba wondered how it was he remembered that and she didn’t.

“They’re not looking to do escort duty,” she said. “And, besides, their leader doesn’t even want me there.”

Fram scoffed. “You’re Bilba Baggins. I have no doubt you can think of something, some way to convince them to let you go.”

A warm glow spread through her, Fram really thought that highly of her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just up and leaving like that. Usually it’d take weeks to plan, but they said they’re heading out immediately.”

Fram’s hands tightened on hers. “Tell you what. Why don’t you let me move into Bag End while you’re gone and look after things for you? That way, you’ll have nothing at all to worry about. You can focus 100% on your trip.”

Bilba stared at him. “You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “Of course. Like you said, it won’t be that long, right? You’ll be back before you know it.”

Bilba’s heart swelled with adoration. Just the thought of Fram living in her house, walking through her halls, sleeping in her guest room, was enough to positively make her swoon.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered, and his face lit up with a smile.

“Good. Let me know what you decide.” He patted her hand, and stood up.

Bilba watched as he walked to the end of the dock and vanished into the market once more. Just before he disappeared entirely she saw Poppy making a beeline for him. Any other time the sight would have had her a basket of nerves, but now she simply lifted her chin, and felt at peace.

Fram supported HER. Fram wanted to help HER. She’d never had a male interested in her before. They always seemed to worry her mother might have had too much influence on her. Even as proper and respectable as she behaved there always seemed to be a cloud on her that she could never quite dispel.

It was one of the things that led to her living alone in Bag End all these years, and was one of the main reasons she’d never been courted.

But maybe that could all change now. Over the years, she’d watch girl after girl be courted by young gentle Hobbits.

It was finally going to be her turn.

Fram said he would wait for her, and he supported her, even if it wasn’t entirely proper.

During the course of her tale the sun had climbed steadily higher in the sky, until it now hung almost directly over her head.

Carefully she made her way back across the dock and through the marketplace. Several Hobbits called out greetings to her and she responded in kind, her mind quietly working.

She passed Priscilla’s door, and nearly stopped to speak to her. At the last moment she changed her mind. Priscilla would be dead set against her going, and Bilba realized she didn’t want to be told no.

She wanted to stop fearing the past.

She wanted to find out what happened to her mother, father, and Bungo.

She wanted to prove to Fram that his belief in her was not misplaced.

Lluvatar, help her; she wanted to go on an adventure.


	7. Chapter 7

When Bilba arrived home, nearly skipping with glee, she was surprised to see Fili and Kili crouched near her front door, their ears pressed to the wood. All the items she’d bought from the market were still out laid next to them in her garden.

What are you two doing?

“Gandalf’s back.” Fili said.

“We’re pretty sure he and Uncle might kill one another,” Kili said.

Bilba’s eyes narrowed. “Not in my house they won’t.” She started to stomp in, and then hesitated, as a thought occurred to her. She looked back to Fili. “Do you still have that contract?”

“Yes,” He answered slowly, “Why?”

“Good,” Bilba ignored his question and put a hand out. “Give it to me.”

 A moment later she opened her door and stalked inside. The Pretty Pretty Princes tried to grab at her but she shook them off and continued.

As soon as she did the sound of raised voices came from her living room. The day before she might have tried to scurry past, or not gone inside at all. Now, however, her Took side was wide awake and feeding off the supreme confidence she felt after her talk with Fram.

So she headed straight for it. Just as she reached the entrance, darkness spread out over the walls, the wood began to creak, and she watched as Gandalf, already taller than anyone had the right to be, seemed to grow another three to four feet.

“ENOUGH! IF I SAY BILBA BAGGINS IS A BURGLAR, THEN A BURGLAR SHE IS!”

The wizard towered, looming over Thorin, who stood in front of him gazing up at him……………….…and something extremely odd, even for her, happened.

Bilba looked at the Dwarven King. To this point she’d only talked to him a couple of times and he’d insulted her, apologized only to insult her again and, overall, dismissed her. She had no reason to like him and a plethora of reasons not too.

She could remember how he’d loomed over her the night before but now, as the wizard towered over him in turn, he seemed no larger than a child. Thorin had his face raised; not backing up an inch, but she caught the flicker of uncertainty deep in his eyes.

Her mind flashed to the pain she’d seen in them earlier, and took in too the full armor and sword he wore, as though he were so used to feeling unsafe he felt the need to protect himself even in the peace of the Shire.

A presence behind her alerted her to the arrival of Fili and Kili, silently watching Gandalf threaten their Uncle.

It made her angry.

She marched forward and shoved in front of him, looking up at Gandalf with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“HEY!”

Gandalf, for his part, looked startled. Around her the blackness faded, the groaning ended, and the wizard returned to his normal height, which was still really tall, but was at least somewhat more reasonable.

“What is wrong with you?” Bilba demanded. “You dump an entire company of Dwarves on me unannounced, run off before I can yell at you as you so richly deserve and now you try to BREAK MY HOUSE? What, precisely, did I do to deserve this?”

Gandalf looked about to answer, but Bilba was already spinning back around. Thorin had his mouth open, always a bad sign with him, and was undoubtedly about to say something idiotic about not needing her help.

She pulled out the contract Fili had given to her and slapped it against his chest - and, wow, he had a broad chest – and ordered “SHUT. UP. Every time you open your mouth you start off fine but then you forget entirely to shut it again.”

Thorin looked annoyed but, for once, kept his mouth shut.

“I’m going.” Bilba said flatly.

Thorin’s mouth opened again and, really, if he spoke it would probably make her want to abandon him to Gandalf, so Bilba did the only thing she could think of and slapped a hand over his mouth. “What did I just say?”

He looked stunned, his eyes locked on her, and she could almost swear she detected the faintest hint of amusement deep in them. Did Thorin Oakenshield actually possess a sense of humor?

Bilba signed in exasperation and removed her hand, her Baggins’ side horrified while her Took side danced with glee.

“As I said, I’m going. As far as Rivendell. If I haven’t proven I can take care of myself by then I’ll have myself escorted back home and you’ll never have to see me again. Agreed?”

It should work out perfectly. He could make Gandalf happy by letting her come and then could claim he’d given it a fair chance at Rivendell, but it hadn’t worked out. It allowed him to be in charge in all aspects, while not looking bad for getting rid of her.

Meanwhile, she could go to Rivendell, and hope it jogged her memory about what happened to her family. The thought made her stomach clench in an almost painful manner but she doggedly kept quiet. She would do this. She would put the past to rest, and then would return home where Fram would be waiting with open arms.

Thorin considered her, before finally saying, “Agreed. You may accompany us to Rivendell, at which point the Elves will see you safely home.”

“Good.” She stepped back. Behind her Gandalf began to speak, and Bilba held up a hand for silence. “I’m still not speaking to you, try again tomorrow.”

Now the look in Thorin’s eyes was unmistakably amused. She hoped he didn’t get used to it. No doubt he’d be unable to avoid saying something idiotic and she’d be forced to yell at him again in the near future.

“It’s too late to get to Bree before nightfall, you might as well spend another night here and we can leave in the morning.” She couldn’t in good conscience send them out now, particularly since she’d be going with them and didn’t feel like starting out her trip in the dark.

She turned back to where Fili and Kili were standing slack jawed in the entrance. “Don’t just stand there; you left all my purchases on the front stoop. Go get them in, now!”

They obeyed, and Bilba rubbed her temples. All these males were giving her a headache.

Without another word she headed back to her room, and proceeded to fish out her sketchbook and pencils. They were hidden in her wardrobe, at the very back, on the bottom. It was the first time she’d touched them in years and she couldn’t stop the small smile at the feel of them in her hands. It really had been far too long.

Getting back to her feet she headed out, past Gandalf and Thorin who were standing in the same position as when she’d left, and out the front door where Fili and Kili were bringing her groceries in.

She went down the stairs to her bench at the bottom of the garden and sank down with a sigh.

Honestly, how was she even going to make it to Rivendell if there was this much drama after having only met them the night before?

Had it been the night before? She worked back through the timeline, and groaned in annoyance. It felt like she’d met them years ago already.

She flipped her pad open and began sketching the ouline of the drawing she’d been itching to do of Fili and the way he’d looked examining her sword the night before.

The lines quickly began to take shape and Bilba soon found herself lost in the work. She hadn’t so much as picked up a quill in years but she fell back into it as though it had been mere minutes. Around her the world seemed to shrink and disappear, all the cares and worries melting away until it was just her and the scratch of the pencil against the paper.

So engrossed was she in the work she utterly failed to notice the footfalls on the stairs behind her, until they paused directly behind her.

“That’s a good likeness of him.”

Bilba jumped, and fought the urge to slap the book shut.  

Thorin stepped around to the other side of the bench and gave her a questioning look. Bilba gave him a suspicious look in return, but nodded, and he sank to the wood with a sigh. With an odd hesitation, he held a hand out. “Would you mind if I saw it?”

Bilba didn’t comment, but simply handed the pad over.

Thorin studied it. “You’re uncommonly good.”

“Uncommon,” Bilba said with a laugh. “A word I can never get away from.”

He shrugged and handed it back. “It’s not so bad a word is it?”

“It is in the Shire,” Bilba said, leaning back and closing the pad.

Beside her Thorin pulled a pipe out from somewhere in his coat and lit it, leaning back against the wooden back of the bench.

Bilba followed his gaze. The sun was beginning to go down, she must have been sitting there for hours, as evidenced by the soreness she could feel making itself known in her lower back.

“I’m against you going.”

Thorin said it without looking at her, his eyes still focused out over the Shire, or perhaps even beyond it.

“I picked up on that,” Bilba said. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

He inclined his head slightly, conceding the point.

“I get it,” Bilba continued. “Fili explained it, or at least started to. The rest wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“Did he?” Thorin turned to look at her. “What did he say?”

Bilba ran her hands over the sheaf of papers she’d fashioned into her sketch pad, running her fingers over the coarse twine binding them together. “Just that it’d look bad back home if they heard you were waiting outside the mountain while I went inside.” She looked at him with a frown. “I told him I didn’t know why you were so worried about impressing them anyway.”

“I need their help,” came the short response.

“Help you should have gotten as soon as you asked,” Bilba shot back.

His eyes darkened. “They only answer to the one who holds the King’s Jewel, the Arkenstone.”

“Which is a poor excuse and you know it,” Bilba said. “I doubt they’d obey any random individual who showed up with the Arkenrock, and you can’t tell me they magically forgot who you are.”

Thorin stood up pacing forward to her front fence. “It’s more than a rock.”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” Bilba said. “Fili made it sound like an unusually pretty rock, but a rock is a rock.”

She placed her pad and pencil on the bench beside her and got up next to where Thorin leaned against the fence. She turned back to face her home and leaned against the fence next to him.

“Have you ever heard the tale of Beren and Luthien?”

Thorin gave her a sidelong look. “What about it?”

Bilba looked away from him, down the lane toward Fram’s home.

“Beren and Luthien wished to marry but her father forbid it. Not wanting to look bad, or to upset his daughter, he set an impossible task for Beren in order to gain Lutien’s hand.”

“Retrieve a jewel from the crown of Morgoth,” Thorin said. “I’m aware of the tale.”

“Thing is, he wasn’t supposed to actually TRY it,” Bilba insisted. “I imagine King Thingol simply expected him to give up and admit defeat.”

Thorin pushed off the fence and, to her eternal surprise, grinned at her. The look transformed him, and she realized he was far younger than she’d initially believed.

“But he did try,” Thorin said, “and he succeeded, in the end.”

Bilba sighed and rolled her eyes in frustration. Trust him to miss the point entirely. “And if you do succeed, and go back with the shiny rock that proves you’re who they already knew you were, what then? They didn’t want to go in the first place.”

He shrugged. “They will be bound to their word. If I return with the Arkenstone they will have no choice but to set out with me to destroy the dragon. If they refuse they will lose their honor.”

And honor was vitally important to a Dwarf, she knew that much. No doubt it was why they hadn't outright refused him in the first place, but rather worked out a scheme designed to make him give up. Except they'd underestimated the stubbornness of Thorin Oakenshield, an oddity as she'd picked up on it almost immediately.

Her train of thought derailed suddenly as, down the lane she caught sight of Priscilla and Seth returning home from wherever they’d been. She sucked in a breath, and jumped behind Thorin.

He looked back at her with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want them to see me!” Bilba hissed. She’d already decided against telling Priscilla, or the Thain, about her decision to go. They’d no doubt be against it, or outright forbid it, and she didn’t want that. It meant she wouldn’t be able to get any additional money for her trip but she still had leftover coins from the trip to Bree, and that should be more than enough to get her to Rivendell and back - assuming she'd have to pay Rangers to take her and couldn't just convince the Elves to do it for free.

She peered around Thorin’s back, and saw the two had gone inside. “They’d be against me going and I’ve heard enough about it from you already,” she groused.

Thorin frowned. “Are they your kin?”

“No.” Bilba retrieved her sketch pad and pencils from the bench. “I have no kin anymore, it’s just me.”

She looked back up to where the sun was sinking. “I better get back inside. I need to pack and I should probably get dinner going.”

“Bombur is seeing to dinner,” Thorin said. “Speaking of which, here.”

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a heavy pouch of coins. “For the food, and also the lodging.”

The pouch was dropped into her hand, and Bilba’s eyes widened at the weight. “This is far to much!”

“I doubt it. I saw how much food there was.” he said. “Keep it, if only to pay for the annoyance.”

The annoyance of having to put up with him? She doubted that's what he meant but happily decided to take it that way.

He'd already turned around again to continue staring out over the Shire so Bilba shrugged, pocketed the money, and headed back into the house.

At least she wouldn’t have to worry about paying for an escort back home now.


	8. Chapter 8

They left before the sun was up.

Bilba barely slept. She spent the night cleaning and organizing her house. It just wouldn’t do for Fram to move in and see how cluttered everything was. The more she cleaned the more knotted her stomach became at the thought of him in her house, seeing everything so messy and out of place.

If she’d had a month she didn’t think the house would look good enough. Finally, after the others had already gotten up and began to get ready she admitted it was as good as it was going to get and got packed. For the trip to Bree she’d only put together a small overnight bag and was at something of a loss as to how to pack for an extended trip to Rivendell.

Eventually she gave in and asked Fili, who was more than happy to show her how to consolidate items and only what was absolutely necessary. On Fili’s advice she set aside her dresses and settled on trousers, several shirts of varying weights to contend with weather, and a coat. As Fili pointed out if she actually ended up in trouble she didn’t want a heavy skirt tangling around her legs as she tried to wield her sword. He also steered her away from her brighter clothes and toward the ones of a brown or beige color. In the Wild the last thing you wanted was to stand out.

It was as he pointed the last out, moving aside a bright red shirt in favor of a simpler, darker one that the memory came.

_“What do you think?” Belladonna twirled in place, the heavy wool skirt swirling in folds around her ankles. The deep russet contrasted well with her fair skin and dark hair. “I was so embarrassed the last time I was at Rivendell. Gandalf hadn’t let me bring anything but drab clothes. This time I’m sure I’ll make a much better impression!”_

“Bilba?”

Bilba set the shirt down quietly and shot a grin at Fili. “I’m fine. Thank you for your help. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave now so I can pack some…more…..”

She trailed off, but he got it, his face flushing. “Of course.” He bowed and all but ran out of the room. Bilba snickered at the sight of the armed Dwarf running from the thought of a female Hobbit’s unmentionables, then sighed as melancholy returned.

The last time she’d set out for Rivendell came flooding back again. She still remembered nothing of the actual trip. She could recall everything up to leaving Bree. After that it was all a haze, the next clear recollection being of standing on the Thain’s doorstep in the pouring rain, covered in blood.

Alone.

She remembered her mother had packed all dresses, bright, beautiful clothes. She’d done the same for all of them, wanting to make an impression when she arrived at Rivendell.

Would things have gone different if Gandalf had ever explained to her why wearing them might be a bad idea?

No, she doubted it. Belladonna had loved to dress up and also possessed a startling lack of self-preservation coupled with an intense belief in her own immortality.

Thus her decision, after having gone on a few adventures with a wizard for guard, to drag her entire family into the Wild, supremely confident of her own ability to guide, and protect, her family as well as Gandalf.

And look where that had gotten her, where it had gotten them all.

She sighed and focused on getting finished. Allowing her thoughts to go in that vein never solved anything.

Once done she sat down and wrote letters to the Thain and Priscilla letting them know where she’d gone and about when she expected to be back. She almost wrote to Fram as well, but ended up staring at the blank page for nearly a half hour without the slightest idea of what to write. Did she express happiness at his promise to wait for her? Gratitude over his agreeing to look after her home?

In the end she left it alone and, instead, included a note in Priscilla’s letter explaining how Fram would be looking after her home while she was gone.

Finally, she was ready, gathered up her belongings, and headed out.

Thorin, Fili, Kili, Gandalf, and the redheaded Dwarf, who she’d learned was named Bombur, were waiting outside. She joined them, wincing at the cold, and closed the door behind her. She locked it, then slid the key inside the envelope for Priscilla to give to Fram.

“I’ll be right back,” she told the others, and then hustled down the lane to Priscilla’s house where she slid the envelopes through the slit on the front of her friend's door that they used for mail. Priscilla would find them laying on the door mat inside the foyer when she got up. Guilt twisted at her for sneaking out but she knew Priscilla would never agree with her heading out on a trip with a bunch of male Dwarves she barely knew.

SHE wouldn’t agree with it either if it hadn’t been for Fram giving her the extra little push she needed. Anyone would raise an eyebrow at a young lady heading into the Wild with a bunch of strange males, but the only ones whose opinions mattered to her were Fram, Priscilla’s and Seth. Priscilla and Seth would forgive her. And Fram understood her. He wanted her to be happy, to be able to put the past behind her as much as she wanted to put it behind.

The thought settled her nerves, and she quickly ran back to the others.

They set out along the dirt path, Thorin, Bombur and Gandalf taking the lead while Fili and Kili walked easily on either side of her.

Bilba had never had much reason to be out at night, and was surprised at how different it looked. Everything was so silent, only the quiet chirping of crickets and the creak of leather and weapons as the Dwarves moved. All the lights were out, leaving the area looking like a simple collection of rolling hills with fences interspaced every now and then.

At the base of the hill a large hedge stood on either side of the lane, separating the wealthier residents from the less wealthy. Fram used to live on the far side of the hedge, before his father unexpectedly came into an inheritance after a relative died. After that he’d moved to the wealthy side and, shortly, after that Bilba had seen him for the first time.

It had been just after she’d lost her family. She’d been sitting on the bench outside her, now empty, home and saw him wandering the lanes and marketplace. He’d seemed so excited about things she’d taken for granted, so happy and full of life she couldn’t help but watch him, that day and every one after.

He seemed so respectable, so proper, so perfectly Hobbit like. He was everything her mother hadn’t been, everything Bilba tried so hard to be, and he did it with absolutely no effort. She envied that, even as she fell in love with the one who exemplified it.

They passed through the hedge. The sky was just starting to lighten, the first hints of the sun rising.

Bilba watched it, her thoughts still caught up her triumphant return, and the waiting smile of her intended.

So enamored was she with these thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the whispered, “Bilba! Bilba!”

She turned to look and, there, standing with his back against the hedge was none other than Fram himself.

Bilba stared, then quickly pushed past Fili and Kili with a quick “go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Then, without giving them a second thought she nearly ran to where Fram was waiting in the shadows.

He grabbed her hands and grinned, his teeth shining white against the darkness. “I thought you were going to tell me what your decision was.”

Bilba felt her heart flutter in her chest. “I’m sorry. They wanted to leave right away and I got so busy getting ready. Then it was so early and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s all right,” he answered, his voice hushed in spite of there being no one around to hear. “Did you get everything taken care of at Bag End?”

“I did,” she said. “I put the key in an envelope for Priscilla to give to you. She’ll see you get it.”

He was silent and, for just a second, his hands tightened, squeezing hers in an almost painful grip. Bilba flinched, startled. “I’m sorry.” She said quickly. “It's not that I had any problem with it. I had no idea you’d be here or I’d have brought the key to you as I left.”

She had no idea what the problem would be aside from the possible belief that her not bringing him the key was somehow seen as a slight, though how she couldn't being to imagine.

His eyes, in the rising light, flicked past hers, and widened fractionally. He released her hands and took one step back. “It’s fine. You could have brought it to my house though. I wouldn’t have minded being woken up.”

She would have minded waking him up though. Not only that but Fram’s house was much farther down than Priscilla’s and she hadn’t wanted to make the others wait.

“I’m sorry.” She said again, though she wasn't sure what it was she was apologizing for.

“It’s fine,” he said again, the grin back. “I’ll just get the key from Priscilla later. It won’t be a bother. I’ll make sure to take good care of your home while you’re gone.”

Bilba nodded. Something in the back of her mind niggled, a feeling of unease she couldn't quite define.

Fram pulled his hands free, and Bilba felt the cold rush into replace the warmth that had been there a moment earlier. “Have a safe trip Bilba. I hope you find out what happened to your family.”

"Me too," She whispered. He nodded, and then turned and strolled away, back through the hedge and up in the direction of Bag End.

Bilba turned, and saw Fili and Kili still standing in the middle of the road watching her. Thorin, Bombur and Gandalf were farther away but had also slowed their pace.

She flushed and went to catch up. “I told you not to wait.”

“I don’t like him,” Fili said without preamble as they started walking again.

Bilba rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know him.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Kili announced. “Fili is an excellent judge of character. It’s like magic, he’s never wrong.”

“Or he’s just insanely judgmental and too stubborn to admit when he’s wrong,” Bilba responded. “And he's wrong this time. Fram is a far better Hobbit than I am.”

Fili snorted. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Like you'd even know," Bilba shot back. "You've only just met ME."

He shrugged. “Like I said. I’m a good judge of character.”

Bilba blinked, startled. “Your instincts are very skewed Master Dwarf.”

His eyes narrowed. “And your self-image is very distorted, as is your opinion of a certain Halfling.”

"Hobbit," Bilba muttered. "We don't like being called Halflings."

Kili looked back over his shoulder. “It is odd that he was waiting there. He didn’t know when we’d leave, he must have been waiting all night.”

Bilba flinched. First they complimented her and then expressed surprise anyone would go to the effort of waiting to say good-bye to her. Hiking her pack better on her shoulders, she quickened her step until she walke ahead of them but still behind the others.

Behind her came the sound of a smack, a surprised yelp from Kili and then a hissed, "what? What did I say?"

Bilba sighed. It stood to reason they would have the same bad habits as their Uncle when it came to opening their mouths.

She stared at her feet and wished this entire thing was over and she could be walking back to Bag End instead of away from it.

Much, much later, she would look back at that moment and laugh at her own ignorance.

It would be a long, LONG time before she set foot back in Bag End and, when she finally did, it would be under circumstances she could never have imagined in her wildest dreams.

Or nightmares.


	9. Chapter 9

Entering through the gates of Bree brought a heavy sense of dread to Bilba, adding to the general feeling of nausea she’d begun to experience some time back.

Her eyes traveled down the dirt streets, past rickety wooden buildings, and toward the gate leading out the other side.

She’d never so much as looked at it the last time and, now, she’d be going through it.

She’d been committed upon leaving the Shire but every step since then had brought a growing sense of uncertainty. It was one thing to decide she wanted to find out what happened to her family, it was another thing entirely to actually set out and do it. Her confidence from her talk with Fram had long since faded, leaving only doubt and fear in its place.

Her family was dead, she knew that. The amount of blood on her clothing testified to that and also to her probably witnessing it.

Did she really WANT to remember that? _  
_

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. The not knowing haunted her and subsequently gave her false hope that her family would one day return. It was like a wound that hadn't healed properly. The only way to fix it often was to reopen it, clean it out, and let it heal correctly.

If she ever wanted to move on in her life, and hopefully her future with Fram, she needed to do the same with her past.

They made their way to the Prancing Pony. Before they arrived Gandalf announced he had things to see to and left them. Bilba believed he simply enjoyed being cryptic.

They continued on to the Inn where the rest of the group was, taking up nearly the entire room. Most of them seem startled to see her and she guessed Thorin must have made his position clear before they left.

If there was anything that Dwarf was good at, it was making his position clear.

She started to make her way to a table when the first Dwarf she’d met, Dwalin, loomed up in front of her.

“You able to use that thing?”

He indicated her sword and Bilba absently put a hand on the hilt. “Well enough, though I doubt I’m any expert.”

He glowered at her, or maybe that was his normal expression, and stalked off without another word.

Bilba shook her head, and then her attention was caught by a young looking Dwarf, wearing mittens, sitting by himself in a corner. He looked as lost as she felt and she found herself walking to him and sitting down.

“Are all Dwarves so very odd or was it just a prerequisite for joining this group?”

He looked at her in surprise. It made him look even younger and she grew more annoyed at Thorin’s claim about HER being too young to go.

“They aren’t all so bad,” he said quietly. “My brothers are all right.”

He indicated two Dwarves, one with a weird, pointy hairstyle and a much older Dwarf. “That’s them, Dori and Nori.”

Bilba nodded, filing the names away. “And the rest? I know I heard them before but it was a bit chaotic.”

Ori grinned. “Just a bit.”

He willingly pointed out the rest of the Dwarves to her. There was Balin, the grandfatherly one she remembered, older brother to the scary one, Dwalin. Then there were the brothers Oin and Gloin, then more brothers, Bofur and Bombur and their cousin Bifur who had an axe of all things stuck in his head.

Thorin was talking to Balin and Dwalin. He sent the two off to go ready the ponies they’d be using, then set to getting food laid out for the rest of them, the last decent meal they’d have in an establishment before being reduced to eating on the road.

Bilba watched as the Dwarf came into his own, effortlessly commanding others to do his bidding as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And the others obeyed him as though the thought of defiance never crossed their mind.

There was more to him than a crotchety, ill-mannered Dwarf who didn’t know when to shut his mouth. To her surprise, Bilba felt a pang of regret. She'd probably never get the chance to see  and get to know the Thorin Oakenshield who inspired such loyalty in his people, and his own nephews. As soon as they reached Rivendell they would move on and leave her behind.

Balin and Dwalin returned and everyone settled down to eat.

Bilba stayed next to Ori while she ordered but, once the food arrived; he politely excused himself and went to sit with his brothers. Fili and Kili were clustered around Dwalin, telling him some story or another, and the others were all speaking to their own family members or one another.

It wasn’t that they deliberately shut her out, she knew, it was simply there was no place for her to begin with. They knew each other, they didn’t know her.

Thorin was seated by himself at a small table near the wall. He ate slowly, looking out the window, though she noticed he kept one hand near where his sword lay against the wall.

Bilba chewed on her lower lip a moment then put her shoulders back, straightened her head and marched over to sit across from Thorin.

He raised an eyebrow at her as she sat and she rolled her eyes in return.

“Brooding again, are we?”

“I do not brood.” He answered. The answer was quick enough she wondered if she weren’t the only one to lay the accusation.

“Of course not.” Bilba responded, sarcasm heavy in her words. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You don’t brood. You majestically consider the weight of the world on your shoulders, is that better?”

He studied her. “Most generally show me more respect.”

“Is that why you think they won’t sit with you?” Bilba leaned forward and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think it’s more likely they fear you’ll brood them right out of their appetite.”

“I already stated I do not brood.” He shot back.

Bilba gave him a look that said what she thought of that comment and started eating. She hadn’t PLANNED on baiting him when she’d come over, it just seemed to spring up naturally when she was near him.

He glowered at her a few seconds more, then gave up and started looking back out the window.

Bilba grinned and looked out over the Inn.

A few tables away two men were hunched in a corner booth. The younger one, tall and thin with straggly blond hair, stared at her so openly it was unnerving.

Bilba looked back at him, expecting him to look away, but he only grinned, revealing stained, missing teeth. She frowned, but dismissed him. On her last visit there’d been a few less than pleasant individuals who’d shown interest in her but none had openly threatened her and she’d returned home safely. If she hadn’t been bothered then, alone with no escort, she highly doubted anyone would seriously bother her now that she was with a company of Dwarves and Gandalf.

“I shudder to think how you treat whoever passes for a leader in your own town.”

“What?” Bilba looked back at Thorin.

He turned his attention away from the window and back toward her. “The utter lack of fear or respect you insist on showing me, is that the way you treat all authority or am I just lucky?”

He was pretty much just lucky.

“You didn't kill me after our first two meetings so I doubt you'll suddenly kill me now.” Bilba said. Her eyes went back to the two men. The younger one had pointed her out to the older one, a heavy set man with dark hair drawn back in a messy ponytail and both were openly staring, clearly taking delight in how uncomfortable they were making her. “As for respect, I think you have to earn it.”

“Indeed?” Thorin asked. “And what great deeds did your lover do to earn your respect?”

Bilba gaped at him. “My WHAT?”

“The young man waiting for you as we left. He was quiet adamant in seeing you off. You mentioned having no kin, so who else might he be?”

“He’s…” Bilba stammered. Her eyes flickered back toward her two watchers, and she grimaced in distaste as one of them made an obscene gesture at her. “Fram is a friend.” She said finally. “A very, very good friend and…hopefully…maybe more someday…”

“Indeed.” Thorin said. You seem to think highly of him. You must have known each other a long time. Did you grow up together?”

She floundered. “Well, not exactly. Actually, I’ve only spoken to him twice…but he’s lived in the area for years!” The last words came out in a rush and she turned to look at Thorin as she did.

He was looking back over his shoulder, but returned his gaze as though sensing hers. “So you barely know him better than me, yet you count him a friend and potential lover. And you give him your respect.”

No. No, that wasn’t it at all. She KNEW Fram, she did! She saw him every day, watched him go to the market, saw him interact with his friends and family. Just because she hadn’t TALKED to him all that much didn’t mean she didn’t KNOW him.

“He’s done nothing to prove my respect is misplaced,” she mumbled finally. She looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of the two men up and moving purposefully in her direction.

“Nor have I,” Thorin said, casually.

And just like that he drew his sword and almost casually drove it into the floorboards between her and the two approaching men. Thorin didn’t even bother to turn around before doing it.

Instant silence fell over the tables next to them. Dwalin, Balin, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fili, and Kili – every single one of them was staring at the two men with fixed, blank expressions.

Both of them stopped, as though it had JUST occurred to them that all the Dwarves were together and it wasn’t just Thorin and Bilba.

Though Bilba had a feeling the sight of Thorin alone should have been enough warning. Perhaps she should have rethought baiting him after all. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her own sword but was honest enough with herself to admit it probably wouldn’t do much good. She’d never practiced against anything but wooden targets, and those her own size. She had zero experience in actual fighting, and especially not against multiple targets, both of whom were larger.

The younger of the two men held his hands up. “Hey, hey, don’t go getting all stirred up. We just wanted to say hi to the little lady, right? Been on the road a spell, we have, and haven’t seen a woman in even longer.”

Bilba felt her skin crawl. There were plenty of women in the Inn, but Bilba was the smallest and youngest of them. For not the first time she mentally cursed the frame she’d been given, it made her look weak.

 _Right,_ her mind supplied, _because you’re not ACTUALLY weak, is that it?_

Bilba's mind went to her mother. Belladonna Took had been anything but weak. _  
_

“The lady doesn’t wish to speak to you,” Thorin said. He still hadn’t turned around, dismissing the two as insignificant.

Now the older one spoke up. “Now you don’t know that, do you? You should let the little lady speak for herself don’t you think?”

As he spoke he leaned forward, toward her. Bilba shrank away, only to feel the wood of the bench at her back.

Thorin sighed, and faster than she could see, had the sword out of the floor and at the man’s throat. The man froze.

Instant silence fell over the entire Inn.

“I believe her actions speak for themselves,” Thorin said, and now his voice held an ice that Bilba didn’t even know he possessed. He straightened in his chair, steel in his backbone and a fire in his eyes. In a second he became a thousand times scarier, and more threatening, than Dwalin.

Bilba realized he’d never been angry at her in their interactions, just greatly annoyed.

She definitely should rethink baiting him.

The younger man grabbed his friend’s sleeve and tugged him back. “Hey, no harm done.” He backed away, dragging the other man, who looked royally pissed off. “We didn’t mean anything by it. We’ll just be on our way.”

They fled, nearly tripping over themselves on their way out.

Sound returned to the Inn, and the others returned to their eating like nothing at all had changed.

The sound of scraping wood sounded and then tables were being shoved against the one she and Thorin sat at. The result was a literal wall of Dwarves blocking her off from the rest of the Inn, and the Inn from her.

It also mean Thorin was now a part of the group. Kili sat down next to him, while Fili clambered over the table to sit next to Bilba.

“Sorry about that,” Fili said. “We should have done that to begin with.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” Bilba groused. Then, because it sounded ungrateful, she caught Thorin’s attention and said. “Thank you.”

“That’s the least of the dangers you’ll face on this trip, even as far as Rivendell,” he responded. “And I entirely fail to see why a young woman of means would wish to go, particularly when she has a lover waiting for her at home.”

Bilba flushed again at the use of the word lover.

Around her the sound died away until every one of the Dwarves was looking at her.

“What?” She said. “I can’t just want to go on an adventure?”

“You expressed your feelings on the quest quite clearly,” Thorin said, his expression blank. “And yet suddenly you announce your desire to prove yourself to us, in spite of the fact none of us have known you long enough to earn your respect.”

He said the last part with a slight sneer.

Bilba sighed. “Fine.” She looked down at the table, studying the wood grain. "My parents went missing on a trip to Rivendell years ago, along with my brother. I was with them but don't remember what happened. I hoped this trip would bring the memories back."

When she finished talking silence met her words, for so long she was finally forced to look up to meet Thorin’s eyes.

He looked relieved.

“Fine.” He said. “We will escort you as far as Rivendell. Once there you will return home.”

Really? That was it? No questions on why now, no grousing at having to deal with her issues when they had their own to look after?

Around her the other Dwarves nodded and returned to eating, though Fili and Kili looked disappointed.

Bilba’s eyes narrowed. “Were you truly that worried? What, did you think I was going to assassinate you all as you slept?”

“I did not know what to think,” he responded.

Bilba rolled her eyes. It seemed to be a reoccurring trait of hers whenever she was around Thorin. “You are very paranoid, Thorin Oakenshield.”

He shrugged. “I’d also considered you were simply after the gold involved, though I could not see that you seemed in particular need of it.”

Bilba’s eyes widened. “There’s gold?”

Throin looked exasperated. “Did you read the contract before you signed it?”

She hadn’t of course, because she didn’t plan on continuing and knew Thorin didn’t want her along anyway.

Now she couldn’t help but smile at him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I didn’t, but now that I know there’s GOLD involved….”

Humor flickered around his eyes and mouth but he studiously tried to fight it off. Again, Bilba, caught a glimpse of how young he truly was.

It was locked away again quickly enough, and Bilba felt a pang of sadness.

Without really knowing why, she decided to make her mission twofold.

One, find out what happened to her parents.

Two, get Thorin Oakenshield to lighten up.


	10. Chapter 10

She didn’t know what to expect.

On the one hand, she thought it possible she wouldn’t remember anything. It had been years and, in all that time, she hadn’t had so much as a single memory, not even a nightmare. It could end up the memories were so deeply buried she might never reach them.

On the other hand, it was possible they’d come flooding back all at once as soon as she left Bree.

The one scenario she never expected was for them to simply return one by one as though they’d never left.

The first came as her pony stepped out the gates of Bree.

_Belladonna laughed, throwing her arms open wide as she stepped over the threshold._

_“Isn’t this wonderful?”_

_Behind her, Bilba had to agree. The landscape opened before them, devoid of all civilization. Here it was pure nature, flowers and trees and singing birds._

_Bungo scampered past her, free to run as far as he could wish._

_Ahead her mother had grabbed her father by the hands and was twirling with him right on the path, her father wearing an expression that was a mix of exasperation and affection._

_Bilba grinned, and hoisted her pack higher on her shoulders. It felt as though endless possibilities had opened up before her. She stepped forward, anything could happen, and she could only imagine the wonders and sights she would see, the amazing tales she would return with._

Her father's face faded, and Bungo vanished, lost from her mind's eye.

“Bilba? Are you all right?”

Kili rode beside her, his face concerned.

“I’m fine.” Bilba said, forcing a smile.

He didn’t look convinced.

Bilba purposefully looked ahead, to where one of the Ri brothers rode ahead of her. The group was gathered in a relatively straight line, Thorin rode at the head and Gandalf, who’d reappeared without comment as they left, next to him.

Bilba was at the back with Fili and Kili on either side of her.

“I’m sorry,” Fili said suddenly, speaking from her other side. He spoke with hesitation, as most did when they were about to touch upon something painful. “About your family I mean.”

Bilba nodded. “Me too.”

The brothers continued to watch her. Fili looked like he was about to speak again, then thought better of it. Instead he did one of those wordless communication things with Kili they were both so fond of, and the two slowly dropped behind her, where they promptly started up a whispered conversation.

_"Do you think she's remembering?"_

_"Maybe. I don't know."  
_

_"Should we do anything?"  
_

_"She said she was fine. We can't make her talk."  
_

_"I know. I'm just worried!"  
_

Bilba felt a small smile form, though she made sure to face forward and hide it from them. They were, after all speaking in Khuzdul, a language outsiders weren't supposed to know. Where her mother had learned it Bilba never found out, but it numbered among the languages she spoke. Her mother had taught her more from novelty than anything else, and warned her to never use it around Dwarves for fear of how they would react to a Hobbit knowing their secret language. _  
_

Her mother's laugh sounded in her ears and, for a second, Bilba saw her once more, along with her father and brother. The three of them ran on ahead of her, vanishing deep into a grove of trees, gone some place she could not follow.

Her smile faded.

Behind her Fili and Kili stopped talking and moved back to take position on either side of her again.

They rode on in silence. 


	11. Chapter 11

Over the course of the next few weeks Bilba continued to get flashes, sometimes so powerful she could swear her family was physically there with her.

 _"_ _Look, Sissy, look!!"_  

_Bilba turned to look at Bungo, who was pointing toward a rabbit sitting on a nearby log. Every animal they saw excited the small boy as though he'd never seen one before. Half the time Bilba found herself chasing after him, trying to stop him from climbing down a hole after some rodent, or up a tree after a bird._

_Nearby, her mother and father sat on a log, watching the sun rising over the stream they'd camped by. Her mother had her head on her father's shoulder and he had an arm wrapped around her.  
_

_The rabbit leapt off the log and bounded away and, with a shriek, Bungo ran after it, his hands outstretched to try and catch it. Bilba shook her head in exasperation and ran after him.  
_

_Honestly, how did he mange to make it so far on such short legs?  
_

 

Camping under the stars, her mother pointing out different constellations.

" _Do you see that star there, Bilba? That is the light of Earendil. He stands in the heavens as a star of hope to all the free peoples of Middle Earth. When we reach Rivendell we'll meet Lord Elrrond, his son."_

_Bilba shivered in delight, and moved closer to her mother. She couldn't believe she would soon meet the actual son of Earendil! He was a legend, someone who lived only in stories but soon she would meet a living legacy of his, in the flesh._

_On her other side Bungo nestled against her, sound asleep, his small body a pleasant warmth through her clothing. Her father was already asleep, uninterested in staying up late to hear tales he'd heard a million times before.  
_

_Bilba, on the other hand, could not get enough of them.  
_

_"Tell me, again, of Earendil and how he slew the beast, Ancalagon?"  
_

_Her mother laughed. "Aren't you tired of hearing that one yet?"  
_

_"Never," Bilba said.  
_

_"All right," Belladonna replied, amusement in her voice. "It all began long ago--"  
_

_Bilba sighed and relaxed, listening drowsily as her mother's words lifted and blended with the smoke from the campfire.  
_

_  
_Walking with her father through the woods to collect firewood, feeling so grown up at being asked to help.

_"I'm proud of you Bilba."_

_Bilba stopped in surprise, turning to face her father. "What?"_

_He nodded, his arms full of branches and scraps of wood. "You've done an excellent job on this trip, helping reign in your brother."_

_"It's not a problem," Bilba said. "I'm just so excited to go."_

_He smiled. "I know you are. I'm glad to know I can count on you though."_

_He headed back to camp and Bilba followed after, her heart bursting with pride at his words._

  
_Bungo ran ahead of her, feet taking him on yet another adventure of his own making._

_Bilba couldn't really fault him. She'd been exactly the same at his age, constantly in search of what lay around the next bend.  
_

_"Bungo, slow down!" She laughed, running after him. "Wait for me!"  
_

_The only sound she got back was a scream of childish laughter.  
_

_He vanished through a clump of bushes.  
_

_She had little choice but to follow.  
_

And, now, starting a day or so after they left, a new sound laced through all the memories. She hadn't understood it at first, had barely even been aware of it for it was far to quiet. The further along she went, however, the louder got, until its meaning was undeniable.

 

Rain on rocks, and the sound of her mother's wretched sobbing.

 

“Now who’s the one brooding?”

Bilba started, jerking back to herself. Her eyes tore away from a tree she could remember helping Bungo climb, to see Thorin riding next to her. She hadn’t spoken to him in nearly three days, since they’d left Bree.

“I do not brood,” she said, parroting his words back at him.

He looked amused, but then his eyes cleared and looked grim. “You’re remembering aren’t you?”

Near her, Fili and Kili perked up, trying to listen in without being obvious.

Bilba stiffened. “Some. It comes in pieces as we go. I didn’t think they would return this readily.”

He nodded. “Perhaps it was never that you lost the memories, so much as you simply refused to look at them.”

She hesitated, and then said. "Would you like to hear about them?"

She didn't know what madness drove her to ask, aside from the memories themselves leaving her with a sudden desparate desire to be close to her family in some form or fashion. Thorin didn't care about her, though, so what care could he possibly have for her lost family?

He continued to surprise her though by nodding.

"Okay." She tightened her grip on the reigns, and took a deep breath. "Bungo was my little brother. He was only a few years old, a child by any race's standards. He was so full of energy it was all I could do--"

She continued on. Fili and Kili moved in closer to hear and, soon, the others did also. Eventually Bilba found all the Dwarves, and even Gandalf, listening in as she described her family.

Her brother's energy, her father's quiet strenght, her mother's infectious laughter.

Through it all neither Thorin nor any of the others made so much as a sound. They just watched the passing scenery and let her talk.

Much later she would feel eternal gratitude toward them all for that afternoon, for giving her the chance to remember the happiness.

One final time.

Before the blood washed it all away.


	12. Chapter 12

They were camped under a wide outcropping of rock. Most of the others, Thorin included, ate and went to bed immediately but Bilba found sleep eluded her.

She was getting close, so very close.

Fear and dread were her constant companions now. 

She felt as though she stood before a closed door, knowing full well something hideous lay beyond it.

And any day now it would be opened.

She had no choice. She couldn't turn back, not now.

Nervous energy vibrated through her, and she got up anxiously, rubbing her hands together to try and calm them.

Fili and Kili were still awake and, desperate to derail her thoughts, she approached them and asked, “would either of you be willing to train me when you have time?”

The two looked at her in surprise, and she continued quickly. “Those two men in Bree caused me to think about it. I have no actual fighting experience against anything but targets, and certainly not against anyone bigger or stronger than me. I’d be worse than useless in a real fight.”

Kili nodded. “Fili would be the best. He’s an expert with blades.”

“Sure,” Fili said. “We can start now if you like.”

It was almost as though they recognized she was trying to distract herself. Bilba could have hugged them. In fact she could have hugged the lot of them, even Thorin. Far from treating her as a burden, they'd accepted her, treating her journey to find the truth with respect and sympathy.

Bombur made sure she got the first meal at night while Balin always made sure she was comfortable. Bifur didn't talk to her much, but talked constantly to others, and Bilba took to listening closely to him, using his words to improve her own pronounciation and understanding of the language. Ori kept her occupied as much as possible with stories of Dwarven heroics. Oin talked to her about healing while Gloin talked to her about banking. Bofur had started trying to teach her to whittle, and Ori and Dori hovered around her when they thought she wasn't looking. Dwalin seemed less annoyed with her, or at least she thought so, and Thorin would regularly come to the back of the line to ride along with her. Often they would end up in some argument or another, and she wondered vaguely if he did it on purpose, to draw her out of herself. As they'd drawn closer to Rivendell he'd gotten more and more grouchy, annoyed at being forced to go to them for help. From what Bilba heard Gandalf had to practically twist his arm, literally, to get him to agree to go and, even then, it had been a near thing. She wished she'd been there to see it though, knowing her, she'd probably have jumped in the middle again.

Still, she couldn't resist endlessly ribbing the Dwarven King over having to go to ELVES for help reading OLD DWARVISH. The fact that Thorin hadn't outright killed her spoke volumes to his patience, though Bilba had eventually discovered a tiny ounce of self-preservation and finally let the matter go.

Perhaps the best part, however, had been Gandalf. He'd taken to sitting with her in the evenings, and telling her stories of the adventures he'd gone on with Belladonna, bringing her mother back to life, if only for a moment.  

Now she worried about damaging her new friendships by rudely awakening them with the sounds of swordfighting. “Won’t the noise wake up the others?”

Fili scoffed. “We won’t actually fight tonight.We’ll work on the fundamentals first, and move on from there.”

Bilba agreed, and soon had Fili showing her the proper way to hold her sword, as well as the proper way to move her feet and hold her stance.

As she’d thought her own experience level was sorely lacking. Fili did eventually let her hold her sword, and gave her a fairly intense, and introductory, verbal lesson on how to fight foes of varying strength, size, and intelligence. Men, for example, were best fought by taking their legs out, getting them on the ground and dealing with them there.

“It’s not about brute strength,” he said, adjusting her grip on the sword hilt. “A fighter who fights smart is ten times more likely to win than one who just tries to overwhelm with brute strength.”

He started to say something else, only to cut off as a shriek echoed through the night.

Bilba went rigid.

Inside her mind her mother began to sob again, the sounder louder than it had ever been.

Her breath ran shallow, and her mouth was suddenly dry. “What was that?”

Fili hadn’t noticed her distress, looking out toward the darkness. “Probably a Warg.”

“Which probably means Orcs right behind them,” Kili said.

At the word, Bilba saw Thorin jerk, instantly awake. For a split second she saw a look in his eyes, like he was in another place and time, then he snapped back and turned to survey the dark.

Kili went on, making up a ridiculous story about Orcs attacking, probably trying to get her to laugh, clearly not noticing her, or Thorin's, distress. A sharp rebuke from his Uncle silenced him instantly.

He got up and stalked to the edge of the small cliff they camped on and, behind her, she heard Balin begin to speak of Thorin’s past, and the reason for the deep pain in his eyes.

Slowly, Bilba lay her sword down, and made her way to Thorin’s side. She stood next to him, her arms folded across her chest, and stared into the darkness.

"I'm sorry, about your grandfather, and your father and brother."

No wonder she recognized the pain she sometimes saw in his eyes. He'd lost as much as her and on the same day as well. More even when you took Erebor into account.

"It was a long time ago," Thorin said shortly. "I am over it."

That was a lie and they both knew it. There was no getting over something like that. There was merely learning to move on with a piece of your soul missing.

“The boys were merely being fools,” Thorin went on. “We won’t be harmed here.”

“I know,” Bilba said. “I’m fine.”

Thorin didn’t look at her, his eyes staring out into the black. “If that is so then why are you crying?”

Bilba lifted a hand to her face and found, to her surprise, it was streaked with tears.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t realize I was.”

She wiped furiously at her eyes, and took a shuddering breath.

Thorin made no move to leave, and she didn’t either.

 Instead the two of them stood quietly, each lost to their own memories, and watched the dark.

And in her mind Belladonna Took continued to sob, as though her heart had been torn in two.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an awesome beta reader now!!!!! :D :D The amazing, and extremely talented, Drenagon! Her fic (which is bookmarked on my profile if you want to check it out) - History Teaches Us is AMAZING and I highly recommend it! :D

The door opened when they were less than a day out from Rivendell and for the rest of her life Bilba would lament the unfairness of it all.

To have gotten SO CLOSE.

She didn’t know it of course. If anything, Bilba thought she might not remember the end. Perhaps they were not on the exact same path her family took, or maybe her mind was not ready for the final truth.

And then she saw the cracked and ruined remains of the farmhouse.

_“Bilba! Bilba, come here!”_

_Bilba walked forward shyly, her eyes on the ground._

_Belladonna rolled hers in return, grabbed her daughter by the arms, and tugged her forward._

_The farmhouse they’d stopped at was modest, wood and stone with a thatched roof. The family living there was even smaller than Bilba’s, a man and woman with their young son, a few years older than Bilba._

_The family had never seen Hobbits before and welcomed them to spend the night with open arms. Bilba, who’d never seen Humans outside of the elusive and mysterious Rangers, was thrilled when her parents graciously accepted._

Bilba stood in the middle of the cracked floor and gazed up where the roof once blocked the view of the sky.

A few feet away Thorin and Gandalf were arguing about something or other, but she paid them no mind.

The sky was a brilliant blue, though from the outside she’d seen a few clouds beginning to gather at the edge of the horizon.

Gandalf stalked past and Bilba frowned.

“Where are you going?”

“To seek the counsel of the only one around here who has any sense!”

Fili, standing near the remnants of the door, said, “Who is that?”

“Myself!” Gandalf’s voice floated back, and then he was gone, vanishing over the edge of a hill.

“What did you say to him?” Bilba asked Thorin, but he merely snarled something unintelligible and also stalked past. Outside she heard him giving orders to set up camp, apparently unconcerned about the burned out house and missing family that once lived there.

Bilba could hear the others moving about outside, getting everything set up.

_“Bilba! Bilba!” Bungo ran up to her and grabbed onto her skirts, dragging on them to get her attention. “I wanna go exploring! Go with me! Go with me!”_

_Bilba laughed. “All right, where would you like to go?”_

_“Everywhere!”_

_Her father and the man were out hunting, while her mother and the man’s wife sat at the small kitchen table talking._

_When Bilba asked her mother gave permission and suggested taking the son, Atherton, with them._

_The young man gave her a shy smile from where he was sitting quietly, reading. He was over a head taller than Bilba, thin, with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. Bilba had felt her heart flutter the first time she’d seen him, drawn by his shy nature. It was the first time she’d felt any sort of romantic interest in a male, and so it was she stammered quite a bit when extending the invitation._

_He accepted, and soon the three of them set out. Atherton took the lead, knowing the area better than they did._

_Bungo ran ahead and Bilba let him, as it allowed her to walk alone with Atherton._

She couldn’t remember what they talked about.

Slowly, as if on their own, Bilba’s feet started to move, leading her over to a back corner of the room.

The floor was cracked and broken with weeds and grasses growing in, but the wall was mostly still intact.

Bilba lowered herself to her knees slowly, the grit and the sharp edges of broken wood stabbing her knees through the thin fabric of her trousers.

Cold raced through her and the hand she reached out shivered uncontrollably.

She brushed aside rubble, casting away small rocks and debris.

“Bilba? What are you doing?”

Somewhere in the two weeks she’d known them, Fili and Kili had decreed themselves her protectors. They never left her alone for very long. Bilba paused but didn’t turn, her eyes still fixed on the floor.

A shadow fell over her and then Fili knelt beside her. His hand reached out and picked something up off the ground.

She didn’t have to look to see what it was. A small pack, torn and filthy. Fili opened it and pulled out several items, clothing mostly, and a few blankets.

The last thing he drew out caused Bilba’s heart to wrench and a strangled sound to escape her throat.

A small toy Orc, made of fabric, not at all scary, dressed in a pair of trousers and shirt.

Fili silently held it out and Bilba took it from him.

“I was never scared of Orcs,” she whispered, shaking hands gently smoothing the clothing on the toy. “Why should I be? I never knew them but from story, it was almost as though they weren’t real. I never thought telling stories to Bungo would make him fear them.”

She finished adjusting the clothes and brushed the dirt off, a slight smile crossing her face for a split second. “I made him this, silly as I could. Most Hobbits will never meet an Orc in their life, so what did it matter if it were realistic? He stopped being scared after I gave it to him.”

She settled back further on her heels, and cast a tired glance towards another corner. “My parents left their packs over there.” The area was completely destroyed, most of the house having come down in that spot.

“We’ll get them for you,” Fili said immediately. “If you want.”

Bilba shook her head. “No. My parents WERE there, they aren't anymore.”

Carefully, she put one hand on the floor and pushed to her feet, other hand clutching the doll.

“Do you--”

“No,” she said, shortly, anticipating the question. “I just remember staying here. The house was still standing then. We met the family.”

She stepped outside, Fili right behind her, and stared in the direction she remembered hiking with Atherton and Bungo.

Atherton, with his quiet smile and gentle voice. What had happened to him and his family? He’d never tried to contact her after she’d gone back to the Shire. Was it because he didn’t know where she was or because he was no longer alive to do so?

The doll was clutched in both her hands, so tight her knuckles were white.

She grew aware of the others casting looks her way, trying to be discreet about it as they went about their business.

Fili moved past her and went to speak to Thorin. A moment later Thorin approached her.

“If you like, we can move camp. I’ll not force you to stay here.”

Bilba forced herself to meet his eyes. Carefully she put the doll into her pocket and tried to get her heart working correctly again. She pasted a sickly smile on her face. “It’s fine. Here is as good as anywhere. Though--” She turned to look at the ruins behind her. “I would like to know what happened.”

“As would I,” Thorin agreed. “Though whatever it was appears to have been long ago.”

Bilba nodded. “Indeed.” She shut her eyes, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. Once she did she opened her eyes again. “What can I do to help?”

Thorin studied her, that same blank expression he got when he was concerned and trying to hide it, not realizing that his blank expression then BECAME his concerned expression.

It startled her to realize she knew that, just as she knew Kili secretly enjoyed his big brother mothering him and Fili had far too intense an obsession with weaponry.

It had only been two weeks, yet it already felt like she’d known many of them for a lifetime.

Thorin didn’t comment further, just pointed out to what she could do to help set up camp.

Bilba nodded and threw herself into it, quickly losing herself in the work. By the time everything was set up and ready to go, night had fallen.

Most of the Dwarves were sitting around resting or speaking in small groups. A fire had been set up and Bombur was stirring stew in a large pot. She didn’t see Fili or Kili but vaguely remembered Thorin telling them to go and do something, guard the ponies or some such. Perhaps the burnt out farmhouse had bothered him a bit more than he let on.

“Bofur,” Bombur suddenly called out, holding up two bowls of stew, “would you please take these to the boys?”

He looked to the side and Bilba realized he was looking towards the same hill she remembered walking over with Atherton and Bungo.

The shaking returned, fine tremors running along her skin. In her mind Belladonna Took lay utterly quiet.

Bilba stood up. “I’ll do it.”

Bombur frowned. “It’s quite all right. I’m sure Bofur doesn’t mind.”

Bofur looked about to respond, probably to agree with Bombur, but she didn’t give him the chance. Stepping forward she grabbed the two bowls.

“It’s fine. They’re just over the hill.”

With that she turned to go. Behind her she heard Bofur say something quietly and then heard the deep bass of Thorin’s voice responding.

No one stopped her as she crested the hill and began her descent.

_“This is really beautiful. Doesn’t it get lonely though? Being out here all by yourself?”_

_Atherton shrugged, idly twirling a stick he’d been carrying. “Nah. I’ve got my parents and the Elves come through often enough.”_

_Bilba perked up, clasping her hands in front of her face. “Really? Have you met Lord Elrond?”_

_He puffed up, looking altogether too pleased with himself. “Of course! I’ve even been to Rivendell.”_

_“Oh, really? You’ve been there? What’s it like?”_

_Atherton grinned and began to regale her with stories about Rivendell and Lord Elrond. With each story Bilba grew more and more excited about seeing Rivendell herself in another day or so. She began to walk backwards, eyes locked on Atherton as he spoke._

_She didn’t notice how far Bungo had gotten from her until she heard him scream…_

Bilba stopped dead on the dark hillside, hands clutching the bowls so hard it was a wonder they didn’t break.

Her brother’s scream echoed in her head.

She swallowed, or tried to, as her throat went drier than dust. Her entire body shook so badly she could barely stand and it felt like she’d been carved from a block of ice.

An expanse seemed to open around her. Behind her lay Thorin and the others, but she could swear a wasteland separated her from them.

Before her lay darkness, so deep nothing could penetrate it. As the day had progressed the clouds she’d seen on the horizon had moved in and now they blocked the light of the moon.

She couldn’t say how long she stood there, unable to move back, incapable of stepping forward.

Rushing footsteps sounded and, from the darkness, Kili came running up.

“Bilba! What are you doing?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, grabbing her by the arms and turning her back toward camp. “There are trolls, they’ve taken the ponies and Fili is trying to free them. I need to warn the camp!”

Trolls.

_“RUN! BILBA! RUN!!”_

_She lunged forward, barely grabbing Bungo as the monstrous hand reached for him. He screamed again. Her grip on his arms was undoubtedly bruising but she had no time to relent. She swung him up into her arms and ran._

Kili was talking to her but Bilba couldn’t hear him. Finally, he forcibly shoved her to a sitting position on the ground.

Stay. Here.

She saw his mouth form the words but no sound came out. Then he was gone, racing to the camp and leaving her alone.

_The ground thundered. Bilba didn’t dare look back. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her arms ached from Bungo’s weight._

_A tree root grabbed her feet and she stumbled, falling forward._

Feet rushed past her, into the night.

Oin, far too old for battle, but given little choice.

Gloin, who only wanted to make life better for his wife and child, forced to do so with the blade of an axe.

Dwalin, eager, running without reservation into the heart of danger.

_Pain lanced through her knees and hands as she hit the ground. Bungo flew from her arms. Foul laughter sounded behind her and terror seized her heart, locked her limbs._

_Arms grabbed her. Bilba looked up to see Atherton, his eyes blown with fear, gaze fixed on something behind her._

_He dragged her up, shoved her in front of him._

_And then he was behind her and she could spare no time to look back._

Dori and Nori, resigned but loyal.

Ori, trailing behind, a mix of fear and excitement on his face, the look of someone who had yet to face true battle.

_Her lungs ached, every breath of air she dragged in a struggle. Her eyes burned and her legs threatened to fail her at any moment._

Balin, a peacemaker forced to battle against his very nature.

Bifur, enraged, ready for battle.

Bofur and Bombur, not warriors at all but ready to do what they must.

_She burst from the tree line, screaming._

_At the door to the house her mother appeared, along with Atherton’s mother._

Bilba couldn’t remember her name.

Kili, terrified, running full tilt not to battle, but to the side of his brother.

_Her father, and Atherton’s father, came running at the sound of her screams._

_The earth vibrated just behind her._

_The treeline exploded._

Thorin, weary and without choice. Forced once more to face the brutal hand fate dealt him.

He vanished into the darkness, lost to her like all the rest, and was gone.

And she was alone.

Again.

Surrounded by darkness and death.

 

 

 She remembered everything.

 

 

And by Illuvatar, she wished she HADN’T.


	14. Chapter 14

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Something inside her had shut down, numbness spread through her body. Her mind felt sluggish as though just waking from a deep sleep.

Overhead, the clouds parted and moonlight cast a silver glow over the landscape. Around her the grass was crushed, bent from the passing feet of her friends.

Bilba’s friends. She had few friends in the Shire she realized with a start, why had she never noticed that before? There was Seth and Priscilla, hopefully Fram but, beyond that, she couldn’t really name anyone she’d count a friend. She could remember having plenty of friends as a child, running through the meadows, searching through fields in massive games of hide and seek, camping at night under the stars.

When had she lost them? When had she become so accepting of being alone?

Cold crept along her skin, a light breeze adding to the chill but she barely registered it.

A depression next to her leg caught her attention and she held out a hand to it, fingertips brushing against the smooth, bent blades of grass. It was where Kili had knelt, she thought. There was no warmth to the area, no evidence he’d been there other than the broken blades.

She wanted him to come BACK.

She wanted all of them to come back.  

The break in the clouds vanished and darkness returned. The impression melted into it.

A roar broke out and her head snapped up.

_Mother._

_Father._

_Bungo._

_Atherton._

_His parents, whose names were shamefully lost to her even then._

Shouting, unintelligible, but the panic unmistakable.

Trolls had taken everything from her.

They were about to take even more.

Another shout, and this time there was no mistake. Fili screaming his brother’s name, the terror in his voice lancing straight through her.

**_“KILI!!”_ **

_Her mother’s screams. In all the languages she spoke none possessed the words to properly convey that pain._

**_“BUNGO!!”_ **

Something inside her burst.

Molten hatred, thick and cloying, ran through her nerves, whited out her vision, created a loud roaring in her ears. Her breathing increased and the temperature around her seemed to rise.

She **_HATED_** those foul Trolls. Their continued existence was intolerable, it could not be borne.

Her family was gone but Fili and Kili, Thorin, all the others WEREN’T. They were ALIVE, right that very second, breathing, THERE.

She would be damned if the Trolls took even a

**_SINGLE._ **

**_ONE._**  

Bilba set the bowls down and stood up.

Her sword was back at the campsite, she had no time to go back and get it.

She clenched her jaw; teeth grinding so hard together a headache bloomed behind her eyes.

She walked forward, her feet carrying her down the hill, her mind almost in a fog of near blind rage.

Flickering light from a campfire caught her attention around a slight curve and she followed it.

A voice boomed out, and her skin crawled, her hands clenching in fists so tight pain blossomed as her nails gouged her palms.

“Drop your arms, or we’ll rip his off!”

Bilba stepped into the shadow of a tree and gazed on the scene before her.

Three Trolls, every bit as monstrous as she remembered. Two of them held Kili by the arms and legs, stretching him out between them. Sweet, funny, young Kili, who always tried to distract her with stories of the insane antics he and his brother got into, his face contorted by pain.

Toward the back of the group, standing in near shadow, Thorin stared at Kili with horror. Fili stood near the front, impotent rage and desperation showing in his eyes. His hands clasped the handles of his knives and his body kept going through minute spasms as he struggled to hold himself back from darting forward to save his brother.

_Belladonna collapsed to the ground, hands clasped over her heart, sobs wrenching from her throat._

Sharp pain sliced through Bilba’s right hand as her fingernails popped through the flesh of her palm. Instantly the area became slick, and rivulets began to run over her knuckles.

Thorin threw his weapon down. The sound caught the attention of the others who began to follow suit.

Slowly she walked through the bushes; her feet making no sound, until she’d circled behind where the Dwarves stood.

_Blood splattered her face, catching in the folds of her dress, dripping down the sides of her cheeks, matting her hair._

_Atherton’s father, following in the footsteps of his son and throwing himself in the way as the rest of them ran._

_She didn’t look back that time either._

One of the Trolls threw Kili toward Fili. His brother caught him and the two fell together in a heap.

_The Trolls weren’t even hungry._

_They were doing it for FUN._

Two of the Trolls were busy collecting weapons, bending down to pick them up and throw them to a pile at the side. They were also forcing the Dwarves to remove their armor.

The third Troll was busy pulling out sacks from near the campfire.

_Her father’s breathing, ragged and harsh._

_The rain started then._

The roaring in her ears stopped. The rage receded and an unnatural calm settled over Bilba.

_Rain on rocks and the sound of her mother’s wretched sobbing._

Thorin was still near the back, standing close to a tree. The Trolls had forced them close together, crowding them, and he was shoved back even further.

_I’m so sorry._

As Bilba watched he reached up and began to remove the ridiculous fur coat he always insisted on wearing. She’d teased him for it, citing how hot it must be and inquiring how often he was mistaken for a woman in a fur coat from the back.

_I love you._

He loved the thing, however, and they had lost so much after all and had so little left.

_Good-bye._

And now even that was being taken from him.

_Rain on rocks._

“It cannot be borne,” Bilba whispered.

_And silence._

She reached forward, barely stepping from the trees, tangled a hand in the back of his coat and threw her entire body backward.

Thorin was a full head taller than her; she barely came up to the bottom of his jaw. In addition the Dwarf was much larger and more solidly built and was dressed in full armor.

Yet she still managed to drag him completely off his feet, barely darting out of the way herself as he crashed to the ground past the first several trees, fully in darkness.

Without hesitation, Bilba jumped up, threw herself partly over him to keep him from moving, and slapped a hand over his mouth. As she did she found herself burying her face against his neck, her body rigid as she waited for the Trolls to notice and react.  

She felt his body tense, then still. The pulse in his throat beat a rapid staccato against her cheek and heat from his body leached through her clothing from where she touched him.

No reaction came. Bilba slowly lifted her head and dared to look.

The Trolls hadn’t seen and there were so many Dwarves they failed to notice one missing.

The Dwarves, for their part, who couldn’t fail to notice their leader missing, never so much as twitched. Dwalin and Bofur simply took two steps and filled in the empty space where Thorin had stood a moment before, never even pausing as they removed their armor.

One of the Trolls came forward with the bags and began forcing some of the Dwarves in, while the other two set a spit up over the fire.

Thorin put a hand over hers and tugged it away from his mouth.

Bilba stood up and placed a hand against the tree, staring out at the fire.

Thorin stepped up just behind her and braced his hand just above hers on the tree trunk. He lowered his head to her ear, whispering something but she had a hard time hearing him over the pounding of her own blood in her head. She finally turned to look, inadvertently bringing their faces within inches of one another. Once she would have blushed and jerked away but, at that exact moment, all she could see was hate.

Thorin looked at her with the oddest expression on his face, as though he’d never seen her before. He didn’t repeat whatever he’d said and, after a moment, Bilba turned her attention back to the others.  

At that moment the Dwarves were being either tied to a spit or tossed in a pile. The weapons were still near them and toward the bottom she could see the edge of Kili’s bow and several of his arrows.

_She staggered, collapsing to the wet ground and nearly taking her parents with her. Mud sucked at her feet, weighted her dress and tangled it about her legs. She sobbed and shoved a hand in her mouth, biting down hard in an attempt to muffle the sound._

_Her father no longer spoke or made any sound at all. His feet dragged and his head was down._

_On his other side her mother had a blank look on her face; she hadn’t spoken in a long time either._

_Bilba felt cold eating at her bones, sinking into her marrow. She got up but soon fell again, mud and rocks tearing at her knees and sending sharp pain shooting through her._

_Ahead of her a granite wall rose up and, there, at the base, a small opening._

_She turned to her mother to point it out and for the first time noticed that the blood on her mother never seemed to wash away, no matter how much rain fell._

“Can you shoot a bow?” She was surprised at how calm and level her voice sounded but, then again, her mother’s had been level and calm too, at the end.

Thorin had been staring out at the same scene, his face set and angry, tinged with the barest hint of despair.

“What?”

Bilba repeated the question and Thorin nodded.

“I can, though I cannot claim Kili’s accuracy.”

Bilba nodded and pushed away from the tree, and him. “Stay here.”

He frowned at her, his eyes narrowing. “What do you plan to do?”

She looked at him and, again, he got the oddest look on his face like he was seeing her for the very first time.

Bilba twisted her lips in a sick parody of a smile.

“Wait and see.”


	15. Chapter 15

It was the sight of Kili’s bow that jogged her memory, and gave her the idea. She didn’t have access to them, but she knew where to find another one. If she could recover it, along with some arrows, and give them to Thorin...

Yes, it would work, Bilba was sure of it.

She made sure Thorin would stay put, which he seemed prone to doing anyway, and headed out, running along the forest floor and trying to ignore the echoes of footsteps from the past rattling inside her head.

The cave was easier to find than she remembered.

A wall rose in front of her and and she pressed her hands against it, feeling the cool stone underneath her palms.

She moved her hands across it until the rock vanished. She stumbled forward a step before catching herself.

And then she was at the end of her journey.

The opening was little more than a cleft, narrow and low. Far too small for the Trolls to enter. She remembered them lumbering past much later, after the sky had cleared from the rain and the sun had begun to return, entering a different cave a hundred or so yards away.

She rested her hand for a split second on the entrance and then quietly stepped past. A light breeze from inside, ice laden and stale, drifted around her as she did, causing her to shiver. Absolute silence pressed in on her from the opening, giving no hint of the secrets contained within.

The stink from the Troll cave hit her before she even arrived, bringing back memories of those early days after. She’d only dared venture out during the day, or when the sky wasn’t overcast and she still wasn’t entirely sure what made her step inside one evening after the beasts had left. Morbid curiosity perhaps, or a vague thought of finding something that could help her kill them.

She’d found weapons all right, but none she could use.

At least none she could have used then.

The cave was pure black inside. Her eyes strained to adjust but there was nothing for them to adjust to, just an absence of light so intense it was a near physical thing pressing down on her. She was forced to place a hand against the wall, grimacing at the feel of lichen, and who knew what else, coating it.

Carefully she shuffled forward, her feet kicking aside debris and other, fouler, things.

Her foot struck the edge of a wooden barrel.

She dropped to her knees and began feeling around, her fingers brushing through bits of leather, debris and, a few times, long, smooth objects she tried desperately not to think about.

Metal clanged and jangled as she shoved aside swords and daggers, pieces of armor and broken helms. Where was it? She remembered clearly seeing it the last time but it didn’t mean it was still in the same place. Should she check the barrels?

Her thoughts went to her friends, particularly Thorin who couldn't be trusted not to rush in like an idiot if left unattended, and her stomach knotted. She had no time to dawdle, already it could be too la –

Her fingers closed over a curved, slim shape and the rush of relief was so profound it left her shaking. She dragged the bow out, the weight of the metal pulling her arms down. It wasn’t built for a Hobbit and she hoped it would be all right for Thorin. He was tall for a Dwarf; he should be able to make it work.

A quick search turned up the arrows she remembered being scattered about and then she was up and out as fast as possible.

She didn’t look at that smaller cave as she went. She had the living to worry about; the dead would have to wait.  

She made excellent time back and found Thorin exactly where she’d left him. About half of the Dwarves were tied to a spit and being carefully turned over a fire. The rest were piled near a boulder, bound in sacks.

Thorin looked like a statue, his face set, gaze unwavering. He probably wanted nothing more than to charge in like a blockhead, no plan and no weapon, but he was somehow managing to resist the urge.

Bilba set the bow and arrows down next to him and he started with surprise before kneeling next to her.

“Where did you come by these?”

“You want me to waste time explaining?” Bilba asked, her voice sharp. “Or do you want to stop everyone from being roasted?”

He gave her that look again, one she couldn’t bother to try and define, and promptly shut his mouth.

Bilba nodded toward the Trolls. “Can you do it?”

His eyes narrowed, considering. “One, absolutely, possibly two if Mahal is with me. I cannot take all three; the third would be on me before I could string another arrow.”

Bilba shut her eyes, struggling against a wave of despair. She'd hoped he could at least confidently take two immediately and then get the third as it ran toward him.

She opened her eyes again and studied the pile of Dwarves on the ground. Kili lay between Oin and Gloin, half his body actually lying over the healer. Bofur was sprawled on his side by Gloin while Bombur and Balin lay nearby. A rock overhung where Oin lay and next to it a channel led naturally into the area, a bush and more rocks providing covering. The rest of the Dwarves were tied to the spit, making enough noise to draw most of the Trolls’ attention but every now and then one or more would glance towards their remaining captives to make sure they hadn’t moved.

Her eyes tracked further, past Balin, Bombur and Bofur. The weapons were all there, piled in the open with nothing around them. Kili’s bow was on top. His arrows were nowhere to be seen but she had plenty of those.  

If only he were free and both he and Thorin had their weapons…

A new idea formed, murky and full of holes and possibly born of complete and utter insanity.

It would most likely result in her death.

On the spit Dwalin was roaring something, his voice tinged with pain as the fire licked at him each time he rotated near it. Ori looked terrified, his face paler every time he appeared. Fili’s face was set, his eyes finding his brother every time they came out, actually relaxing minutely as though what was happening to him was acceptable so long as Kili stayed safe.

Next to her Thorin simply stared, his body quiet, the only movement the light from the fire flickering over his face and sparking off his hair.

Her eyes traveled down to his hands, one dug into the ground, the other resting on one knee. Both hands were clenched into fists and the look in his eyes was of despair mixed with horror.

The look of someone about to watch everyone and everything they ever cared about die, knowing there wasn’t a single thing they could do to stop it.

Resignation settled over her. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; perhaps she’d never really gotten away to begin with but simply delayed the inevitable.

A rogue breeze, heavy with cold and an odd smell of staleness, slid around her legs and twirled up her body. A second later it swirled around her shoulders and head and then vanished up into the night sky.

“Swear you’ll kill them.”

“What?” Thorin asked and Bilba resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, with him being such a smart ass, she’d made the assumption he was SMART.

She stood up and turned to face him and he did the same, a slightly confused look on his face. Her Took side took over and she found herself putting her hands on either side of his face, fingers tangling in his braids and hair, drawing him forward and pressing her forehead against his.  

“Swear,” she whispered, her eyes locked on him. “Swear to me you’ll kill them.”

She didn’t clarify why she was demanding the oath. He didn’t ask. He simply stared at her. He barely knew her and owed her nothing, certainly not an oath. He was the exiled King; she was nobody.

“I give you my word as King under the Mountain.” Thorin said his voice every inch that of a future ruler. “They will not leave this clearing alive.”

“I hold you to your oath, oh King.” Bilba replied. “Be ready.”

She turned away. Behind her Thorin said something, probably wanting to know what he’d just given his oath in return for. Bilba didn’t give him a chance to figure it out.

She also didn’t give herself a chance to second guess.

Dropping to a low crouch, she darted forward, skirting the edges of the clearing until she stood at the entrance to the little channel leading to her friends.

She stayed low, trying to breathe slowly and regularly.  Her legs began to complain almost immediately, not used to being held in such a position for so long, but she ignored them.

She was a Hobbit, a creature who could be almost entirely unseen if so desired.

She so desired.

Carefully she crawled forward, keeping against the rock on one side and out of the light as much as possible. The stone scraped against her, catching on her clothing and driving sharp edges into her back.

She tried to both simultaneously watch what the Trolls were doing and not look at them at the same time. She didn’t think she could handle looking straight at them from this close.

She reached a small bush and tried to fit her entire body behind it. The small fronds swept at her face, bringing up an itch in her skin she had to grit her teeth against. To her left lay Balin who, to his credit, didn’t so much as twitch when she began to creep around the bush, keeping it on her left and the rock on her right.

A second, much smaller bush, stood perfectly between Oin and Kili and she carefully slid her hands through the dirt, pebbles and rocks sliding over her fingers, lowering her body till she was nearly prone. Her palm stung as dirt mixed in with the cuts there and she vaguely worried about infection, not that there was anything she could do about it.

The muscles of her calves were screaming at her and trembling as they struggled to hold her in the position she wished. A cold sweat prickled at her skin and she swallowed past the feeling of bile in her throat as her body threatened to betray her.

At the fire one of the Trolls suddenly looked toward her and Bilba froze, lowering her eyes lest the firelight flicker off the pupils.

She held her breath and dug her fingers into the dirt. Her legs were ready to drop her outright and it was only through sheer force of will that she stayed up.

“He’s looking away again.”

The words were bitten out in a low whisper, nearly too low for her to hear. Bilba looked up to see that Gloin had moved, pushing himself up and back so that he provided a perfect shield for her to slide behind and still reach Kili.

Whether he knew what she wanted, or simply desired to protect the young Prince, she didn’t know but she could have hugged him either way.

She pushed up; biting back a whimper at the pain it caused her overtaxed muscles, and slid behind his back, tangling a hand in his shirt to keep her balance.

Bofur, too, pushed up and moved, trying to help block her from view as best as possible.

On the spit several of the others had noticed what was going on and, as one, began shouting abuse and other things, soon capturing the attention of all three Trolls. Nori began to lecture them on, of all things, the proper way to cook Dwarf, his tone scolding as though being roasted on a spit was the greatest of insult to fine dining. The situation was so absurd Bilba had to bite back a laugh, albeit a somewhat hysterical one.

Bilba fumbled with the tie at Kili’s neck, loosening it finally and slowly pushing down the neck of the sack.

He slid backward, leaving the sack over Oin’s legs, and working his way out behind Gloin and Bofur. Bilba moved as well, going back to the smaller of the two bushes to give him room.

Once out, Kili immediately tried to loosen Gloin’s sack but Bilba stopped him with a hiss. He looked at her, startled, and she gestured back toward the forest. He shook his head and she made the motion again, this time pointing toward where she’d left Thorin.

She couldn’t explain things to him and resorted to simply trying to plead with him using her eyes.

This was NOT the time for him to start acting like his uncle.

Kili looked out, toward the fire, and Bilba saw Fili looking back at him. They must have done that weird mental communication thing of theirs because, after a moment, Kili gave a slight nod and turned to go.

Thank the Valar for Fili then. It would seem at least ONE had escaped the stubborness that seemed inherent in the line of Durin.

He gestured at her to go ahead of him but she simply drew back a bit further, giving him room to move. His eyes narrowed but he slid past her without further comment, probably assuming he'd clear the way for her.

Bilba turned her head to watch him go and saw Balin studying her. He made a gesture, indicating she should follow Kili.

She shook her head and looked toward the weapons.

As she’d thought, they were in the open, no cover anywhere. She looked back toward Balin and saw his eyes widen in horror. Movement caught her attention and she saw Kili at the very edge of the clearing about to vanish into shadow. He was also staring at her with a horrified look, one hand up as though he’d been gesturing for her to follow.

Bilba swallowed and then sidled past the Dwarves until she was crouched at Gloin’s side and just behind Bofur. Another step and she’d be in full sight of the Trolls.

“Don’t,” Bofur hissed. He shifted, trying to move his body to block her back against Gloin.

Bilba patted him on the back and then slid out into the open.

And just like that one of the Trolls was turning straight toward her.

Her blood froze in her veins and her breath caught in her throat. How could they have possibly seen her that fast? How?

The Troll loomed over her, arm reaching, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Nothing happened and she risked opening one a bit, to see the massive arm over her, reaching for something behind and to one side. The stink of the thing hit her, making her nose run and her eyes water. She looked up, her eyes traveling up the dirty scrap of cloth it used for clothing, two strips crossing over its thick shoulder like suspenders.

_Belladonna fell to her knees, hands clasped in front of her. She begged for the life of her son, not with elegant speech and flawless logic but with broken words, dredged from a mind frozen in panic and desperation._

The roaring started up in her head again, dragging her down, and her body began to tremble from more than just the exertion.

The Troll began to move back, bringing some kind of weird salt shaker thing with it and, as it did so, it started to naturally look downward.

“HEY!”

Bilba started.

The Troll looked over its shoulder toward Fili, where he was straining to keep eye contact even as the spit continued to turn.

“HEY!” he shouted again, “I’m not done talking to you, you maggot infested monstrosity!”

“Wot’s that?” The Troll turned and focused entirely on him, as did the other two. The rumble of its voice cut through her, raising bile in her throat she had to choke back down.

Another of the Trolls looked at Fili quizzically.

“Wot’s that word?”

Fili gleefully explained, Dwalin joining in, and soon the Trolls were arguing with them again and not paying attention the rest of their captives.

Bilba sagged onto the ground, her body cold and breathing suddenly difficult.

She forced herself back up a moment later and dragged her body over to the pile of weapons, hunching behind them as much as possible.

For once luck seemed to be with her as the bow lay right on top with nothing interfering. She slid it down the back of the pile without it making much noise, and turned to leave.

She saw the sequence the second it began to happen and knew there was absolutely no way to avoid it.

The Troll at the end of the spit, the one who barely wore a loincloth and nothing else, began to rub at its nose.

Bilba caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.

Time seemed to slow down.

The expanse between her and the others seemed to open to an impossible distance.

Her head turned, just as the Troll began to sneeze, its head jerking to one side.

On the spit the Dwarves all began yelling frantically but it didn’t help.

With only seconds to spare, Bilba twisted her body and flung the bow as hard as she could. It flew past the campfire, barely made it between two trees, and vanished into the dark.

A moment later she turned back to find the Troll looking right at her.


	16. Chapter 16

In an instant all of Bilba’s newfound courage fled and she found herself ten years in the past, twenty once more, cowering before monsters as they slaughtered everyone she ever loved.

Time seemed to stretch, an Age passing between every beat of her heart.

 

Bilba felt as though she were in another place, watching events as they happened to some else instead of her.

_The Troll’s eyes widened._

 

Everyone had gone on without her. 

_The creature said something but all sound had vanished, save the noise of her own harsh breathing and ragged heartbeat._

 

Fleeing into shadow, where she could never follow.

_The Troll began to get up, looming over her to the point where nothing existed but it and its monstrous shadow falling before it, swallowing her up._

 

Leaving her lost.

_It began to stride forward, each step sending the very earth to trembling._

 

And alone.

_An arm reached out._

 

Bilba closed her eyes.

 

 

_Good-bye._

 

 

 

 

Something small whished  past each side of her head, so close on the left she felt a slight snick of pain as it sliced the tip of her earlobe.

The pain snapped through her, fire vibrating through her nerves and her eyes opened in shock. Sound rushed in, the Dwarves screaming at her to run, screaming at the Troll to leave her alone.

Dwalin fought like one gone berserk, wrenching at his bindings so hard it was a wonder he didn’t break bone. Gloin had somehow managed to get to his feet and was attempting to hop to her side.

Before her the Troll shrieked in pain, lunging back. Its hand clutched its face and thick blood spurted between several fingers.

Another object whizzed past her head, light breeze brushing her hair and suddenly the creature had an arrow lodged in the center of its throat.

The Troll jerked its hands away and now Bilba could see an arrow lodged firmly in its right eye, while the left sported one wedged between the crease of the eye and the ridge of the brow.

The Troll made a strangled, gagging sound. It staggered a foot or two and then collapsed on the ground, its hands pawing weakly at its throat.

 The entire thing took mere moments; the other two Trolls were still in the process of getting up.

Bilba stumbled back as they did. Her heel hit the pile of weapons and she fell, landing in the pile. Pain sliced up her left calf as the edge of a blade grazed her.

More arrows flew past her, catching each Troll solidly in the eye. As with the first they both lurched backwards, their hands instinctively going up, and quickly found themselves with arrows lodged dead center in their throats.

It wasn’t enough to kill them, but it put them on the ground, strangled, gurgling sounds coming from deep inside as they fought to breathe with blood slowly filling their lungs.

The entire thing probably took under a minute.

Bilba stared, pushed up slightly on her elbows.

Footsteps and then Thorin knelt behind her, stepping right onto the weapons in his heavy boots. Kili, who’d lost his boots when captured, stood slightly to the side keeping an arrow at the ready in case one of the Trolls got up.

“Are you all right?” Thorin slid his hands under her arms and started to hoist her up, only to hesitate as several of the blades shifted and threatened to slice her further. Swearing softly in Khuzdul, he shifted his angle, slid an arm under her legs and another behind her back and lifted her straight up into his arms. Then, tightening his grip to try and center his own balance, he carefully stepped off the pile and set her down.

As he did pain lanced through her leg again and Bilba grimaced, a hand automatically going to it.

“Kili,” Thorin ordered, his voice flat, “watch her.”

Kili nodded and loaned her an arm to lean on while still managing to keep his weapon up. Thorin, his face downright thunderous, stalked past to release the others.

“So,” Bibla said, finally finding her voice. “He seems upset.”

Kili didn’t look at her. “He’s not the only one. What were you thinking?”

“That I didn’t want anyone to die?” Bilba answered. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“How about letting us help instead of trying to get yourself killed doing it all on your own?” His voice was tight with anger and it occurred to Bilba that she hadn’t realized he could get angry. Every interaction she’d had with him so far he’d been lighthearted and cheerful.

She gave a slight shrug. “You did help,” she said in a quiet voice, “you shot them for me.”

He didn’t answer and Bilba sighed. She hated it when people were angry with her but, honestly, she couldn’t think of anything else to be done. If the Troll hadn’t noticed her at the last second she’d have been safely in the trees again and they’d probably have been congratulating her on her efforts.

A dim light caught her eye and she looked to see the first rays of dawn coming over the edge of the ring of stones they stood in.

Thorin had released the Dwarves tied up on the ground and they were working on getting the ones off the spit.

On the ground the one of the Trolls barely moved. A second twisted this way and that, clawing weakly at its throat, while the third attempted to move toward the Dwarves, only to stop each time Kili began to take aim at him.

“I see I missed quite the excitement while I was gone.”

Bilba twitched as Gandalf appeared on the top of the embankment. The rays of the sun backlit him for a moment before he stepped forward out of them and headed down.

Thorin was just finishing getting Dwalin off the spit. He clapped him on the back and then moved to the center to where Gandalf had stopped.

As he did he began to draw his sword and Bilba felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Leave them,” Gandalf said. “There is no need to waste time. The sun will deal with them soon enough. “

What?

Thorin hesitated, his hand still wrapped around the hilt of the weapon.

Bilba pushed carefully off Kili’s arm, ignoring the questioning look he gave her and hobbled over to the two. Her leg ached, blood still sluggishly running down it, but she continued on.

“Kill them.” Her voice sounded calm.

Thorin looked at her. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Gandalf.

“As I said, there is no need. There--”

Bilba swore at him in Black Speech.

Gandalf’s jaw clicked shut, stunned. Around her the others were staring at her in equal stages of shock.

“You don’t get a say,” Bilba said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “You’re a murderer six times over. My family is dead because of you. You put the ideas of adventure in my mother’s head. You set her on the path she took.”

Fury began to unfold within her, white hot and bitter. She stepped forward, looking up into the wizard’s eyes. “And you’re not even done, are you?" She hissed. "Thorin wouldn’t even be ON this trip if you hadn’t goaded him into it. You’ve sent him to face a DRAGON with nothing more than a group of those to loyal to him to say no.”

Ice crept into her voice, lacing through each word. “You’re the worst kind of evil. You INSPIRE people to run, arms wide open, to their own death. You set them on a path straight to darkness and don’t even have the decency to stay and watch them **_BURN_**.”

Her voice lowered to barely a whisper, each word barbed with pure ice. “You. Say. **_NOTHING_**.”

With that she spun on one foot, barely feeling the pain in her leg any longer, putting her back toward him.

She faced Thorin instead. Her chest heaved; breath short in her lungs.

“You swore an oath, carry it out.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

It occurred to her, in a sudden burst of unwelcome insight that if Thorin denied the oath there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. The Dwarves were on his side, not hers.

She felt the anger begin to drain away once more, the loss of adrenaline leaving her cold and trembling from exhaustion.  

“Thorin,” her voice gave an embarrassing crack and she swallowed hard to fight back the tears that suddenly burned at the back of her eyes. “You PROMISED.”

She sounded like a child, demanding fairness from a patently unfair world.

Something passed through Thorin’s eyes. He pulled the sword from its sheath in one, smooth motion and nodded at her.

“It shall be done.”

Bilba felt a rush of gratitude toward him so powerful that, at that moment, she would have done anything he asked of her without question.

Thorin stalked to the nearest Troll and without ceremony plunged the sword into the slight depression where the back of its head met its neck. The Troll stopped moving instantly.

Over the outcropping of rock the sun continued to rise and Bilba felt a sudden fear that the rays of light would creep over and turn the other two into stone before Thorin could kill them. She couldn’t stand the thought of them getting out of it so easily, just simply to stone instead of justice being done upon them. It felt too much like an escape to her. It wasn’t, she knew rationally, but her heart screamed for justice and to have a personal hand in it.

The second Troll lay on its back, blocking access to the back of its skull.

Kili walked forward, offering to end it with another arrow. Thorin waved him off but took the bow and arrows, setting his own sword to the side.

He shot three arrows, one after another, straight through the Troll’s ear. The arrows were the ones she’d gathered from the cave, thick shafts and tipped with fat triangles of iron the size of her fist.

The second Troll went still.

The third, by this time, had also gone still, the only sound a strangled wheezing as it struggled to draw air past the arrow in its throat.

Thorin began to ready another arrow, but Bilba found herself moving forward.

Her fingers closed around the hilt of Thorin’s sword and she dragged it out from where he’d planted it in the ground. The blade was enormous, to the point she was forced to drag the tip in the dirt as she marched forward.

She reached the Troll’s side and grabbed a fistful of the straps it used as clothing.

Suddenly the sword was no longer in her hand and she turned to see Thorin beside her, offering her a leg up, the sword lying next to him.

Another rush of gratitude, almost stronger than the first, nearly brought her to tears right then but she managed to choke it back. If this was anywhere close to what the rest of the Dwarves felt for him it was little wonder they were willing to take on a Dragon at his request.

She placed a foot in his cupped hands and he hefted her up onto the creature’s chest. He joined her a moment later.

Bilba stumbled forward, grimacing at the feel of the Troll’s skin moving beneath her feet. She reached where the arrow stuck out of its neck and nearly gagged at the feel of the thing’s blood coating her feet.

She dug her fingers into its jawline and dragged herself up onto its face, carefully avoiding the mouth.

She knelt carefully next to its eye. The massive orb rolled in the socket, focusing on her and then away again.

“Hi,” Bilba said, her voice that strange calm again. “Remember me?”

It gave her no response, merely a gurgling noise that caused blood to bubble up around the arrow wound. More trickled out of the corner of its mouth and Bilba remembered the same thing happening to her father right before the end.

“I remember you,” she said, dropping her voice to the barest of whispers. “You.

ATE.

MY.

BROTHER.”

Her hand clenched into a fist again, digging back into the same grooves she’d left there before. Hatred, thick and cloying, clawed up her throat and threatened to choke her.

She pushed to her feet and held a hand out to Thorin for the sword.

“I’ll do it,” he said quietly.

Bilba’s head snapped toward him. “Give me the sword, Thorin.”

“I gave you my word I would do it,” he replied. “I will see it done.”

They stared at one another for several long minutes, a silent war of wills going on. If it had been anyone else Bilba wasn't sure she would have given in. For Thorin, however, for him she could. 

She took a deep breath and stepped aside, allowing him to take her place.

He raised the sword over his head and, in one quick motion, drove it straight through the creature’s eye, the blade vanishing all the way down to the hilt.

Ichor and blood sprayed upward, a thin film coating her clothing and clinging to her hair.

The Troll’s eyes lost focus and its chest stopped moving.

And just like that it was done.

Done at long last.

Done, but not quite over.

She still had one thing left to do.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 as promised!
> 
> If anyone is interested, I posted the first chapter/story of a new Drabble fic. It's going to be a series of one shots set in different AU's. Each one shot has the potential to become a full fledged story one day but, for now, they're just scenes or ideas for new stories that have popped in my head. :)

Everything was so quiet.

The Dwarves were staring at her; she could feel their eyes boring into her from various spots on the ground.

Thorin wasn’t. He was attempting to clean the gore off the blade of his sword, griping under his breath about the travesty of defiling a good, Dwarven blade with something so foul as Troll blood.

Bilba bit her lip as a near hysterical giggle burbled up her throat.

The feeling faded. Behind it came melancholy, dragging at her with harsh and greedy fingers.

She was tired.

Her body felt heavy, her muscles sore and aching. Her head throbbed in time with the wounds on her hands and leg and she was coated head to toe in grime and blood.

But she couldn’t lie down yet, there was still one more thing to do.

Her shoulders sagged and she turned to make her way back down.

Upon reaching the shoulder of the creature she looked to see Fili below her, his arms raised. Bilba managed a slight smile for him. She sat carefully and pushed off without hesitation.

His hands caught her around the waist and he spun her in a circle, setting her gently on her feet facing the Troll she’d just leapt from.

He let her go and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, fixing her eyes on his chest. “I’m fine.”

He started to say something else but she pulled away from him. His hands fell from her shoulders and hung limply at his sides.

A shadow fell over her and Bilba looked up to see Thorin standing on the Troll’s shoulder, sword held loosely at his side.

He looked about like what she felt, but still managed to pull off an air of royalty. Bilba shook her head lightly, trust Thorin Oakenshield to look majestic covered in Troll blood.

She turned away again, walking through the camp. Around her the Dwarves busied themselves, looking away each time they accidentally caught her eye. Dwalin went to help Thorin down, without seeming like he was helping, while Fili moved to check on Kili standing nearby.

Oin was making his way about checking on injuries, while Gloin and Balin were helping Bombur get his clothes put back on. The rest were in various states of getting their armor on or retrieving they weapons.

She caught a glimpse of Gandalf and looked away quickly; she didn’t care what he was doing.

Her feet carried her out of the camp, back through the trees and up the hill to their own camp.

She stepped back in quietly, her eyes tracking over the hastily cast aside bedrolls, the half turned over pot of stew, the guttering embers of the nearly dead campfire.

The others were behind her at the Troll camp, alive, hale, probably laughing and making up outrageous stories already about their own part in the tale.

It could so easily have gone the other way and ended with her walking back to the camp, leaving only silence and death behind.

Her stomach WRENCHED. Acid clawed up her throat and suddenly she was stumbling a few feet to the side. Her knees hit the ground hard enough to send bright sparks of pain up her legs, and then she was heaving, her entire body seeming intent on emptying her body of everything she’d eaten in the past month. Tears leaked from her eyes and she felt blood rushing to her face, raising a sweat even as the rest of her broke out with a cold feeling.

When it was over she sagged to one side, gasping for breath. The rancid smell of vomit made her stomach roil again and she pushed up, staggering a few feet before collapsing again to her hands and knees.

Her mouth tasted sour and she spat, trying to clear it.

Finally she struggled back to her feet, her stomach aching and adding to the pain the rest of her body was in.

She made her way quietly into the camp again and began rummaging through the supplies. She knew there was a shovel; she’d seen it used for the fire and for digging latrines.

Her hand closed around the rough, wooden handle and she pulled it out. She took a few seconds to cover the mess she’d made and turned to face the forest again.

She was so tired. She didn’t want to do this. Why did it have to be her?

_Because you’re the only one that’s left._

She pushed her hair out of her face as best she could and started off.

The forest looked different in the gathering daylight. The trees lost their menace, the shadows lost their depth.

The cave lost none of its darkness.

She stood before it, one hand clutching the shovel, its point planted firmly in the dirt.

Her shoulders slumped further, a heavy weight pressing them down. She took a step toward the entrance of the cave and then stopped.

She didn’t want to go in there, please, please she didn’t want to go.

Tears burned again at the back of her eyes, slipping out unbidden to streak through the dirt on her face. She scrubbed them off angrily and cast about for a quiet spot.

She found one a short way away, a good distance from both the cave and the hole the Trolls had come and gone through. It lay near the rock face, just under an outcropping jutting out from overhead. Flowers and thick grass covered it and a few butterflies flitted merrily in and among the blades. The trees came right up to it on one side, creating a small cove or pocket almost.

Bilba headed over, her footsteps leaden. Once there she sank to her knees in the lush grass for a moment, eyes fixed on the ground. The sun had risen enough that the first rays of light were just beginning to peek over the stone, lighting the small area.

It was peaceful.

Gripping the handle of the shovel with both hands, she dragged herself to her feet again. Then she lifted the point of the shovel and drove it as hard as she could into the dirt.

It sank in about an inch and hit rock with a loud clank, the movement jarring her arms. She stared at it for a moment and then tried again and again got the same reaction.

The ground was too hard, she couldn’t dig.

A thick lump formed in her throat.

Life wouldn’t even give her this one thing.

ONE. SMALL. THING.

The ground blurred and suddenly she was sobbing uncontrollably.

She wrapped both arms around the handle of the shovel and sagged, falling to her knees, the shovel the only thing partly keeping her upright.

Her entire body shook with the force of her sobs, great, choking sounds wrenched from the depths of her gut.

A hand slid around one of hers on the handle of the shovel.

Bilba looked up and, through the blur of her vision, saw Thorin kneeling beside her.

Gently, he began to peel her hands off the handle.

“No,” Bilba said desperately. “No, I have to – I have to--”

“It’s fine,” Thorin said, his voice quiet. “I’ll handle it.”

Another set of hands slid under her arms and legs and she was suddenly swung up against Fili’s chest, his arms pulling her in tightly.

Without a word he began to walk away, back toward the trees.

“No.” Bilba pushed herself up, trying to almost crawl over his shoulder. She saw Thorin holding the shovel, speaking to Dwalin. A few feet away Gloin and Bombur were walking out of the cave.

Gloin held a small bundle in his arms. Bilba caught a brief glimpse of what looked like white sticks, scraps of cloth –

A long strand of copper colored hair.

Her vision whited out and her entire body sagged in Fili’s arms. He snapped something in Khuzdul. Bilba’s mind wasn’t working well enough to decipher it but a second later Kili appeared directly behind him, blocking her view. His face was set, expression grim and Bilba wondered if he would ever go back to the person he’d been before the Trolls. Before he realized he, and everyone he loved, could die.

She shook her head and continued to struggle. “Let me go, Fili. Let me go!”

He ignored her and continued to walk. She’d underestimated the speed of Dwarves as they were back in the forest and a good distance away before she knew it.

Only when they reached a small, isolated glade, well away from sight and sound of the others, did he finally set her down.

By that time Bilba had gotten herself slightly back under control and immediately tried to walk past him.

Fili stepped in front of her. Bilba looked at him in confusion. He held his hands behind him, his back tall, head up and expression as blank as his brother’s.

He looked like a Crown Prince, every bit his uncle’s heir.

“Fili,” Bilba said slowly. “Get out of my way. I need to go back.”

She tried to move again and again he moved to stop her. He didn’t touch her, just stood in her path. She tried to dodge and this time it was Kili who stepped up, blocking her from going.

“Why are you doing this?” Bilba asked. “Get out of my way!”

Her voice rose in pitch, nearly hysterical. Didn’t they get it? She NEEDED to go back. It was up to HER as the only one left, it was HER responsibility.

She tried once more and, for the third time, found Fili in her way, Kili standing at her back.

Something inside her snapped. Bilba shrieked, an awful, wretched sound, and flew at Fili, beating at his chest with closed fists.

He made no attempt to defend himself and for some reason that just made her angrier. She beat against his chest as hard as she could, throwing her entire body behind the blows.

Eventually she started crying again, her blows slowly weakening as she exhausted herself.

Finally she wrapped her hands in the fur adorning the shoulders of the coat he wore and simply sagged. He followed her down and carefully pulled her completely onto his lap, wrapping both arms around her.

Kili sat down also and pulled her legs across his lap, his arms laying lightly over her calves and ankles.

Bilba turned into Fili, burying her face against his chest and wailed as though her very soul were mortally wounded. She cried as though her heart were coming out through her tears, as though her mother’s ghost had entered her body and once again howled in grief for her lost son and husband.

The pain was worse than anything she’d ever felt. She could swear her very soul had fractured and it was only the physical touch of Fili and Kili that kept her shattered frame together.

She cried until she was utterly spent and then lay silent and unmoving in Fili’s arms. Neither Fili nor Kili spoke.

They stayed like that a very long time.

Finally footsteps crunching on forest debris heralded the arrival of Thorin. Bilba watched him come and thought perhaps she could see what Balin had described seeing at the Battle of Azanulbizar.

_“There is one I could follow. There is one I could call King.”_

He stopped in front of her and held his hand out.

Bilba studied it and then reached out her own and clasped it.

He pulled her to her feet, released her hand and began to walk back again.

Bilba trailed silently behind. Fili and Kili walked behind and just to either side, silent sentinels.

They arrived back at the clearing and Bilba saw that the Dwarves were there, standing in a quiet line against the stone wall. Bofur had removed his hat and Ori had pushed down the hood he so often wore.

Several of them were looking at her, the rest were gazing off to the left. Bilba followed their gaze and felt herself still.

About a dozen or so feet from where she’d tried to dig two cairns had been constructed. Bilba wrapped her arms around her torso and walked over slowly. She lowered herself gently between the two mounds and lightly reached her hands out. She hesitated, both hands a mere inch or so above the stone and then gently lowered them to rest on the rocks.

Her lip trembled and she gave a choked laugh. “Hi Mom. Hi Dad.” She took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry I made you wait.”

Thorin was approaching again. He knelt on one knee before her and held his hand out, fingers clasped in a fist.

“We found these.”

Bilba held her hands out. If Thorin noticed how badly they were shaking he didn’t comment. He placed his hand in hers and opened his fingers.

Cool metal hit her palms and she looked to see two slim rings, one of gold in a twisted and elaborate pattern. The second was comprised of a long strip of silver, twisted into a circle with the ends hooked back around to close it off. Bilba absently pressed the band in, unhooking the end, and then began to thread it into the gold ring. It took her a bit to remember the pattern but soon she held one ring, comprised of an intricate, alternating pattern of gold and silver.

She gave a tremulous grin to Thorin. “My Mom was always a bit of a romantic.”

He nodded, then got up and quietly walked away.

A thought occurred to her then and she carefully reached into her pocket, pulling out the small Orc toy Fili had found for her earlier. In all the chaos she’d quite forgotten it was there. She held it lightly, the rings next to it. She’d not really looked that closely at the toy before. Now she did, her hands lightly tracing over the clothing and face. A small smile tugged at her lips as she remembered how happy Bungo had been to get the doll.

Her smile faded.  

Clutching all that was left of her family in her hands; she lifted them to her face and found, somewhat to her surprise, she still had tears left.

She wept for all of them.

For sweet Atherton, his infectious laugh and bright smile.

His father, a rugged, quiet man who’d done his best to do right by his wife and son.

His mother, a ray of light even on a cloudy day, welcoming to all who came to her door.

Her own father, a pillar of strength, the one she’d always believed could do anything, until the day she’d found out no one was that strong.

Her mother, full of life and light, never understanding that a path could lead to anything but great adventure and fun.

Bungo. Dear, sweet Bungo, alive barely long enough to taste life, let alone experience any of it.

And, for the first time, she wept for herself.

She wept for all she’d lost.

She wept for being left behind.

 

 

 

 

The low murmur of voices came to her and she lifted her head to see most of the clearing had emptied. The only ones left where Fili and Kili…and Thorin.

He had his back to her, speaking in a low voice to his nephews. Their attention was utterly focused on him, taking in his every word as though it was of utmost importance.

They always looked at him like that, she realized, all of them did in fact.

For the first time she could understand why.

She placed her hands once more on the rocks, mentally picking up the shreds of her resolve as she did. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you for a while now.”

She got up and gently placed the rings and doll in her pocket.

She took a moment to center herself, straightening her back and lifting her head.

Then she stepped out and walked toward Thorin. Fili saw her first and said something to Thorin. He turned to face her. He opened his mouth to say something, but she never gave him a chance.

In one smooth motion, she knelt in front of him, gritting her teeth as sore muscles and the gash in her leg protested.

She reached out and grabbed one of his hands in both of hers. It was filthy, grime and streaks of blood caking it, but she didn’t hesitate. She pressed her lips to the back of his fingers and then again to the back of his hand. After that she simply pressed her forehead to the back of his hand, her own hands tightening around his.

Then she stood up, slightly shakily but proud of herself for being able to get up at all, and left the clearing.

It didn’t matter if he had any idea what she was doing, it only mattered that she knew.

As far as she was concerned Thorin had returned her home to her. Bag End had always been a dwelling, a place she lived. Her HOME had been her family, her mother, her father, her brother.

Thorin had returned them to her.

And, by Illuvatar, she would do the same for him.

Even if it meant braving the very flames of Smaug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is going to be SO. PISSED. when he finds out she plans to go all the way to Erebor with them. I'm looking forward to writing that particular confrontation, it's going to be epic! :D
> 
> We're getting closer to Rivendell!! Only another two or three chapters I think! :D


	18. Chapter 18

Walking out of the clearing proved to be just about the last thing Bilba’s adrenaline was willing to help her with. By the time she got back to camp her entire body felt shaky and weak, each footstep dragging with exhaustion. Fili corralled her as soon as she stepped into view and she allowed herself to be led without protest to Oin. He promptly began fussing over her leg and hand while Bilba leaned back against the tree they’d sat her against. Fili dropped beside her and she sighed and leaned against his shoulder.

The action brought back a random memory of her friend Violet Cotton and Violet’s older brother, Ardor. He’d been so protective of Violet, following her about, making sure she was safe, offering his shoulder as a pillow any time she tired. Bilba had been so jealous and had begged and begged her mother for a big brother of her own.

Her mind drifted, sleep pressing down and the memories shredded and drifted away like foam on waves.

Whatever happened to Ardor? Her mother’s voice, distant and almost indiscernible began speaking and Bilba remembered suddenly being sat down so Belladonna could explain to her that Ardor had been killed by a wolf.

It happened at the beginning of the Fell Winter and his death ended up being simply the herald to many more that would follow.

Violet never smiled again.

Lifting a hand weighted down by the chains of sleep, Bilba awkwardly patted Fili.

“Don’t die.” Her words were slurred so it was likely he didn’t understand what she was saying. She was only barely aware of it herself.

She thought she felt the low bass of his voice answering but, by that time, she was too far gone to hear it.

 

 

 

 

 

What in the world was that horrid stink?

 

 

 

 

 

Bilba clawed groggily back to consciousness. Her eyelids felt heavy and it took several minutes to pull them open and a few more of blinking to clear the blurriness in her vision.

She was startled to find she was still leaning against the same tree, her head on Fili’s shoulder. He, in turn, was sound asleep, his breathing deep and even. Feeling a pressure against her opposite leg Bilba looked to see Kili curled up alongside her, equally sound asleep. A clean white bandage was taped over the slice she'd taken to the thigh and another was sound around her hand, covering the wounds in her palm.

A look out from there revealed almost the entire camp was in the same position. She hadn’t particularly thought about it before but it made sense she wouldn’t be the only one exhausted from the night before. None of them had slept while tied up in bags, and on a spit, and it was likely many hadn’t even gotten dinner before they’d had to run off after the Trolls.

The same stink from before assailed her nostrils and, with a start of horror, Bilba realized she was smelling herself. Her brain dutifully identified the smell as dried Troll blood and just like that her skin was crawling at the thought of having it on her. She scrambled to her feet as quickly and carefully as she could, finding it a testament to their exhaustion that neither of the Pretty Twins moved, went to find her pack and began to pull out a new set of clothes.

Once she had what she wanted she carefully pulled out the rings and doll, wrapped them up in one of her spare handkerchiefs and gently placed them at the very bottom of her pack. She stood up and began carefully picking her way out of the group.

“Don’t go far; we don’t know what else is in the area.”

Bilba bit back a scream and turned to see Bofur sitting in the shade of a tree. He raised an eyebrow at her reaction. “We don’t give up on setting watch just because it’s daylight you know.” He had one arm thrown loosely over his knee and Bilba could see he was holding a block of wood with several pieces carved out. The other hand held a short knife.

“What are you carving?”

He shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet.” He grinned at her. “That’s part of the fun of it though, the finding out.”

Bilba felt her own lips tug just a bit in a return smile and began to turn to head out again.

“Thorin’s down there somewhere,” Bofur’s voice came from behind. “Though he’s been gone long enough to have had enough baths to last a month.”

Bilba felt her face heat as a mental image of Thorin taking a bath jumped unbidden to her mind. She shoved it aside as quickly as possible and without turning said, “well, I’m sure he’s probably just off practicing new ways of looking majestic without being obvious he's trying.”

A thought occurred to her and she turned slightly to face him. “Did you warn him to not go off to far?”

Bofur lifted the block of wood and idly began carving at it once again. “Nope.”

“And why not?”

He reached up and touched the tip of his hat in a mock salute at her. “He remembered to bring his sword.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. Bofur chuckled and shook his head and Bilba decided it was really time to leave.

The camp had been deliberately set along a path that led straight to the edge of the river and Bilba followed it dutifully through the trees. The sound of the rushing water grew steadily louder and she found her pace quickening at the thought of just being clean soon.

The trees opened onto the banks and she stepped out with a sigh at the sight of the rushing water. The river was wide but very shallow, at least at this point. She doubted it would go up much further than her waist which was fine with her.

She cast about for a place to set her things and stuttered to a complete stop as her eyes found Thorin.

Thorin, who’d stripped down to nothing but his breeches and boots and was currently lying on his back, one hand under his head, the other across his stomach, sound asleep. A few feet away lay most of his equipment. All of it had been scrubbed clean of filth and blood and was laid out neatly, drying slowly in the sun.

Bilba tore her eyes away, her face on fire. The Dwarf wore so much armor and padding she hadn’t realized how EXCEPTIONALLY fit he was.

She started to set her things on the ground, then frowned and straightened back up, grimacing as pulled muscles complained at her audacity in forcing them to continue working. Her gaze drifted back to Thorin and she chewed on her lower lip.

She wasn’t an IDIOT. She didn’t care how tired Thorin was, she’d seen him twitch awake at someone whispering the WORD Orc.

“You know,” she said, conversationally, “I would have expected more honor from you, O King.”

He snorted, his eyes still closed. “I had no intention of spying on you, Burglar. As you can see, my eyes remain shut.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “Even so, I’ll take myself a little further downstream if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” he said, his voice firm. “We missed three Trolls. Who knows what else may be lurking out there?”

“You’re out here alone,” Bilba pointed out.

“That’s different,” Thorin said, his voice heavy with fatigue. “I have my sword.”

“I have one too.”

He laughed. “Not with you and you forget I’ve seen you practice with it.”

Bilba made a face at him. So what if she wasn’t particularly good? She’d barely started being able to practice with someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Thorin pulled his arm off his stomach and draped it across his face. “Besides, it isn’t as though I ask something outrageous. The boys generally accompany you outside of camp do they not?”

Bilba blushed again. “That’s different!”

“Is it? In what way?”

Bilba stammered. “Well…I don’t….I mean….it’s….it just IS!”

Honestly, what a ridiculous question. Obviously there was a difference between Fili and Kili standing guard while she took a bath and THORIN standing guard.

Just because she wasn’t…quite…clear…on what that difference was didn’t mean there WASN’T one.

Honestly.

“Do you truly question my honor?”

Bila gaped. Was it just her or did he actually sound HURT?

“No,” she said. “I just…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she’d well and truly backed herself into a corner.

That or Thorin was a master of verbal strategy and had skillfully worked her into a position where she couldn’t leave without insulting him on multiple levels.

No, her mind said instantly, there was no way Thorin Didn’t-Know-When-To-Keep-His-Mouth-Shut Oakenshield was that smart.

Regardless….she sighed in annoyance and then stalked to the edge of the water and set her things down.

Purposefully ignoring Thorin, she stepped in and gasped in shock at the cold feeling of the water licking at her feet. Gritting her teeth, she plunged in to her waist and began furiously scrubbing, trying her best to clean herself and her clothes without taking them off.

She usually didn’t get undressed when Fili or Kili were there either but, with them, she never felt quite so self-conscious either.

What would Priscilla and Seth think if they could see her now? What about the rest of her neighbors and relatives?

What about Fram?

Her hands stopped in the middle of trying to get the grime from under her fingernails.

When was the last time she’d thought about Fram? Guilt assailed her as she thought back to him waiting in the dark to say good-bye. He’d clearly thought about her but she couldn’t be bothered to return the favor.

Her spirits lowered. She lowered her hands into the river and watched as the water soaked through her sleeves. Streams of dark mud, mixed with red drifted off into the water. The bandages on her hand and leg soon grew sodden and begin to break up and float away. Oin must have put something on the wounds underneath because both remained sealed and didn't reopen.

Bilba shuddered again as her mind ran over the events of the night before. There was Troll blood on her. Forget having to take baths with someone watching her, who would want her covered in blood?

 _Haven’t you always been covered in blood?_ Her mind whispered at her. _Just because you didn’t remember…_

“Shut up,” she muttered.

Angrily, she began scrubbing at her clothes and skin again. More red whipped into the river as the blood on her dissolved and now she felt again the itch on her scalp, the feeling of grime dried on her face.

Disgusting, she was DISGUSTING.

She ducked under the water, barely feeling the ice cold water as it swirled around her head. She burst back up and scrubbed at her head before putting it back into the water.

How could Fili have let her sleep against him? How could Kili have wanted to sleep next to her or Bofur speak to her?

Her throat clogged and tears began streaming down her face. Angry, she scrubbed at them, and then pushed a fist into her mouth to bite back a sob.

It didn’t help and she gave up, letting out another sob as she did. She wrapped her arms around her chest and cried, shivering at the ice cold wrapped around her. She shot a glance back toward Thorin but he didn't seem to be able to hear her over the rush of the river and stayed where he was.

She sighed in relief; at least breaking down in front of Thorin was one humiliation she would avoid. Bad enough she’d done it in front of Fili and Kili. The thought brought a new rush of guilt; she hadn’t even apologized to Fili for her unwarranted assault on him.

Sometimes it felt like the list of her mistakes was so great it was a wonder she didn’t drown under the weight of them.

She got herself back under control and slowly finished washing, not leaving until there wasn’t a speck on her anywhere.

By then she was nearly frozen from the cold, her body shivering and her teeth chattering.

She waded out of the water and studied her pile of dry clothes and the towel she’d left next to her. Finally she gathered them up and made her way to a nearby tree. Scooting behind it she undressed as quickly as possible, dried off and dressed in the new set of clothes.

She gathered up her wet items and brought them back around, taking them over to spread out near where Thorin had put his. There was a light breeze moving through the clearing and she shivered again, looking forlornly at her soaking wet coat.

Her eyes drifted past it to where Thorin’s ridiculous coat was spread out. It looked completely dry and really, really warm.

She shot a glance toward the Dwarf and found his chest moving in the slow, regular cadence of sleep. He’d woken up enough to register that she wasn’t a threat and his sub-conscious now reacted accordingly, allowing him to sleep even with her so near.

Lucky her. She snatched the coat and pulled it on, relaxing as the sun-warmed leather wrapped around her. It had no sleeves but the fur and leather still made it extremely warm and comfortable. No wonder he liked it so much.

She got up and stepped over his legs, moving to the other side and collapsing down next to him.

“I expect that back.”

Bilba jerked in surprise. How’d he even know with his eyes still shut?

“Go back to sleep.”

He grumbled something and moved his arm back to where it had originally been resting across his stomach.

The sun beat down on her and Bilba felt her body slowly start to relax.

“If only it had been sunny that day, “she whispered.

“Why?” Thorin asked.

Bilba shrugged. “It was overcast, that’s why the Trolls were wandering out during the day. If it had been sunny they would have been in a cave and Atherton, Bungo and I never would have run into them.”

“Who’s Atherton?”

“The son of the farmer couple at that burned out house,” Bilba kept her eyes up, focusing on the sun. Under her the ground was hard and uneven, a particularly obnoxious rock dug into the back of her neck and she tried to move to a more comfortable position. “He was nice. We went on a walk with Bungo, my little brother.” She stopped for a moment. “I was more interested in talking to Atherton than Bungo. He ran ahead and stumbled right into the middle of the clearing where the Trolls were.”

Her little brother’s scream echoed through her mind and her lip trembled as tears threatened again.

“Does your lover from the Shire know about this Atherton?”

Her thoughts derailed, and she made an exasperated noise at his continued insistence upon calling Fram her lover no matter what she said to the contrary. “No. What would it matter if he did? Atherton’s dead.”

She sighed, her body slumping slightly into the ground.

Beside her Thorin stayed quiet. Bilba warred with herself over whether or not she should continue. Finally she decided Thorin deserved to know what his oath had been given for. Not only that but, perhaps, if she told him then he could pass it onto the others and spare her having to repeat it over and over.

Bilba kept her eyes up at the sky, not looking at him. For all she knew he’d fallen back asleep. Part of her hoped he had. He deserved to know though, in any event.

So she told him.

About dear Atherton and his parents. About the walk that ended abruptly with the sound of her brother’s scream.

She told him of racing to the edge of the clearing and snatching her brother away from the Trolls just as they reached for them.

She tried to detach herself as she talked of fleeing through the trees. As she mentioned Atherton flinging his body behind them her voice trembled and, in the end, skipped over the details of his fate. She hadn’t looked but she’d heard, the horrific squelch and crunch as one of the Troll’s feet had come crashing down. They hadn’t even paused in their pursuit, simply ended his life as though he were an insect on the forest floor.

Thorin, she was sure, could fill in the blanks himself.

“I was still at the age where I thought parents could solve everything,” she whispered to the sky, forgetting for a brief instance that Thorin was even there. “They were PARENTS. I hadn’t realized yet they were also people.”

She’d thought, when they reached the clearing and saw the adults running toward them, that they were SAFE. Her father and Atherton’s father had run forward, trying to distract the Trolls so Bilba, Bungo, Atheron’s mother and Belladonna could escape.

One of the Trolls had caught her father with a long swipe of an arm. Bilba could still see him in her mind’s eye, flying across the clearing, could still hear the noise his body made as it crashed through the wall of the farmhouse and vanished inside.

Looking back now she knew there was no way he could have survived such a blow. Then, however, her mind had been panicked at him being gone and had desperately hoped for him to reappear quickly and save them.

She hadn't realized parents couldn't fix everything, she CERTAINLY hadn't realized parents could die.

Belladonna had screamed and run toward the house, racing inside after her husband and leaving her children alone outside.

Bilba hadn’t known what to do, to run with Bungo, stay where she was or go after her mother.

The indecision had cost her.

Atherton’s father had been cast aside just as easily, flying to one end of the clearing where he’d lain still.

His young wife had run forward screaming at the Trolls, demanding to know what the fate of her son.

They had ended her screaming soon enough.

Bilba stopped talking, her eyes tracking a cloud roving across the sky. The ground still annoyed her and she wondered how Thorin managed to lay so perfectly still, as though he were on a feather mattress and not the bare dirt.

“And what of your family?”

She’d half hoped he’d been asleep. Trust Thorin to be contrary.

Her eyes stayed fixed on that cloud. If she squinted it almost looked like a small child, just a little.

Her eyes watered. She held them as long as possible but was finally forced to blink, causing them to spill over all at once and track down her face.

She was tired of crying. She’d buried her parents in her mind years ago. She may not have remembered what happened but she knew enough to realize they weren’t coming back.

When setting out from Hobbiton her belief had been she’d have no reaction to getting the memories back, if she got them back at all. She’d never thought it would be like losing them all over again or that the wound on her soul would reopen.

The sun seemed to cool overhead, its rays no longer able to reach her.

She took a deep breath and then suddenly, before she could talk herself out of it, sat up and shifted over. She turned her body horizontal to Thorin’s and lay back down, placing her head right on his stomach though she continued to stare upward at the sky.

If he wanted to make her relive her family’s deaths again the least he could do was be there with her.

For a brief second the thought of what Fram would think touched her mind but she shoved it away. Fram didn’t need to know everything.

Under her head she felt the muscles of his stomach contract, from surprise she supposed, and then relax again.

He made no comment, for which she was grateful.

“My mother came out just as Atherton’s mother died. She had my father with her, dragging him as best she could. He was--” Her voice trailed off. Again, looking back, it became obvious her father was beyond help. Then, however, she hadn’t realized.

There were a lot of things she hadn’t realized.

Like how paying attention to your mother and not the Trolls meant you had no recourse when one of them suddenly reached down and simply plucked your little brother out of your arms.

Belladonna had screamed. She’d put her husband down and Bilba had run to him, helping him back up and supporting him.

Her mother had confronted the Trolls, falling to her knees and begging for her son’s life.

Bilba couldn’t think of Bungo in those moments. Every time she tried her mind skittered away from it.

“Bungo died,” she whispered. She didn’t elaborate; Thorin had been close enough to hear what she had said to the Troll.

Something had broken in her mother. Bilba had seen it, the way her eyes went wide and empty. She hadn’t screamed or made a single sound. One of the Trolls had laughed and swiped at her and suddenly she was flying through the air, a limp ragdoll, before she crumpled in a heap near the treeline.

Bilba had struggled toward her, the weight of her father dragging her down. Her own mind had shut down at some point, refusing to focus on anything but getting her parents to safety. She doubted she had really understood Bungo was dead. It was very likely that she'd had some bizarre hope that, if she could just get her parents to safety, they could save Bungo and everything would be all right. It would be like in the stories her mother used to tell her. Things got dark sometimes, very dark, but they always turned out well in the end.

Her vision had spiraled down to nothing but her mother; she heard nothing but her own harsh breathing.

The ground vibrated beneath her feet.

“I think they let me get to her,” Bilba said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense, there’s no way I made it fast enough on my own. They were toying with me. It was fun for them.”

The rise and fall of Thorin’s chest was even and rhythmic under her head, calming her as she spoke. She WANTED to be around life and vibrancy and hope. She was so, so very weary of death and pain and loss.

“My mother was just lying there, awake, her eyes fixed on something only she could see,” Bilba said shortly, wanting to be done with the telling. “I got her up, got her to help me with Father but it was like she wasn’t even there, like her body was simply responding to my commands by some instinct.”

It had been hilarious to the Trolls, she and her mother struggling to run, dragging her father’s body between them.

As if they could get away.

The rain had started then. As it did Bilba heard shouting and realized Atherton’s father wasn’t dead either. He stood alone on the other side of the clearing, screaming insults at the Trolls, distracting them.

All three had turned to him, losing interest in Bilba and her parents.

It had been what they needed, allowing them to get into the forest and far enough away from the Trolls. They’d found the cave and been inside before the Trolls caught up to them.

She could remember them at the entrance, their giant arms reaching inside but they’d been too large and the cave entrance too small and too deep.

“I would say the Valar had been looking out for us,” Bilba said, her voice bitter, “but given events up to that point I’m more inclined to cite pure luck.”

Her father had already been dead.

Her mother…in a way…had also been dead. She’d been injured by the Trolls, badly. Bilba had torn strips from her dress and bound the wounds as much as she could.

Belladonna had curled up next to her father’s corpse and had cried. Nothing Bilba said to her reached her so, in the end, she’d just sat near the cave entrance and listened to the sounds of her mother crying and the rain on the rocks outside.

“How long did you stay there?” Thorin asked, the first thing he’d said in a long time.

“I’m not sure,” Bilba said. “The days seemed to merge together after a while.”

It had been a long time, she knew. In the first few days she’d lived off the berries and nuts she could find in the surrounding woods, only venturing out when it was broad daylight. At night the Trolls would emerge and taunt her where she huddled safely back in her cave. They burned the farmhouse on the second night; she saw the light of it in the distance. She didn’t know why they did it and they never said.

She tried desperately to get her mother to leave with her. Bilba didn’t know the way to Rivendell, she couldn’t go to get help. Even if she had known she was loathe to leave her mother and, to tell the truth, was terrified to go alone.

So she’d stayed, begging her mother to stay with her as well.

But, in the end, Bilba had not been enough to convince her mother. Belladonna had never spoken again, not a single word. She’d lain near her husband, refusing to eat, refusing to drink, and had slowly grown weaker, and weaker, and weaker.

Until finally one day Bilba had woken up to find her mother rigid and cold next to her.

And just like that she was alone.

“I was still a child,” Bilba said. “I had never been out of the Shire.”

She rolled her head and saw that Thorin’s eyes were open, looking upward.

“You stayed.”

She nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

So she had stayed, in a cave, with her dead parents inside and the Trolls that murdered them outside.

“For how long?”

She sighed. “Too long, until I couldn’t find food. Until I couldn’t bear having the Trolls as my only company.”

She’d gathered her nerve one bright morning and fled back the way she’d come, as fast as possible.

The journey back had been a nightmare of fear, hunger, paranoia of the Trolls behind her, of leading them straight back to the Shire. As some point in her wanderings she'd run into a pair of Rangers on a scouting mission. They'd informed her she was off course and would have missed the Shire entirely had she continued in that direction. They'd brought her back to the Shire. Being in their company, finally out of danger had led to her adrenaline fading and the full impact of what had happened settling onto her. By the time she arrived she was near catatonic and barely aware of being delivered to the Thain's home. One there she'd fallen into a deep sleep for nearly three days, waking up at the end with no memory as to how she'd come to be wandering alone and covered in blood in the Wild.

She hadn't even remembered the Rangers until someone had mentioned them being the ones to drop her off. Now, with her memories returned she could recall their faces and made a note to seek them out upon her return to thank them for what they'd done for her.

Yet two more people she owed a debt to that could never be repaid.

“It’s a miracle you made it as far as you did,” Thorin said his voice quiet.

“If only it hadn’t been overcast,” Bilba whispered again.

If only she’d watched Bungo closer, or been less focused on Atherton, or, Eru help her, hadn’t FROZEN, hadn’t been so focused on her mother that she hadn’t seen the Troll coming, hadn’t –

“If only my grandfather hadn’t fallen to gold sickness, or if I’d done something when he did,” Thorin said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. “Or when he insisted on the foolishness that was trying to retake Moria. If only my father had refused to let my brother go with us, if only he’d been strong enough to lead once he was needed.”

Bilba sighed in resignation, understanding what he was trying to say. “If only my mother hadn’t been so reckless, or my father had stopped her. If we’d hired an escort, or left Bungo home where he’d have been safe.” She sat up, looking down and locking eyes with him. “There’s ample blame to lay at many doors isn’t there?”

He nodded, also sitting up with a grimace; she wasn’t the only one who’d pulled a few muscles. “Indeed there is and the view behind always seems to be clearer than the one ahead.”

“So what do you do?” Bilba whispered. “When the guilt and the what if’s begin to crush you?”

He looked at her and the depth of sadness, of pain, in his eyes matched perfectly the ache in her soul. Without a doubt she knew he carried a similar injury, a part of him that lay back with his brother and grandfather at Moria.

“Bear it,” he said simply, “and continue on.”

“Sometimes I don’t want to,” Bilba confessed.

“They didn’t want to die,” Thorin replied. “We cannot trade places with them. To throw away a gift we possess, that they were denied, would be the height of dishonor. We pay homage to them by continuing to live.”

And perhaps punished themselves at the same time, Bilba thought. She saw the look in his eyes from time to time, heard the self-deprecation in his voice. She knew it well, had the same thought herself.

Who was she to have lived? She meant so little that she couldn’t convince her own MOTHER to fight. Why did she get to live when everyone else died?

Thorin stood up, breaking her out of her thoughts once more. For the second time in a day he held a hand out to her and, again, she took it and let him pull her to her feet.

He stepped over and pulled his shirt on, then began to strap his armor and equipment on.

Bilba started to gather her own things up. Her eyes caught on Thorin’s sword and she paused, studying it.

She stretched over and grabbed it, lifting it up to examine. “This isn’t the sword you had before. Where did you get it?”

His eyes flickered up to hers, away from where he’d been buckling his vambraces on. “In the Troll’s cave, where you got the bow and arrows.”

“Oh,” She slid a look toward him. “It’s Elven isn’t it?”

He looked affronted. “It’s a fine blade,” he muttered, defensive.

Bilba smiled tiredly and then held it out to him. He took it and strapped it on, then gave her a pointed look.

“Fine.” Bilba groused and obediently took his coat off. She handed it over and he shrugged into it, returning to his Thorin the Majestic persona. She could imagine him practicing poses in the mornings when he thought no one was looking, making sure he appeared properly REGAL at all times.

He nodded at her and gestured back toward the camp. “Shall we?”

Bilba took a deep breath. Inside guilt and anger and pain still warred but she would learn to bear it as Thorin did.

She studied him as he looked away, eyes looking for something he’d heard, or thought he’d heard, and she felt another surge of gratitude and loyalty. She wondered how often people saw him as Thorin Oakenshield, Exiled King under the Mountain and forgot he was also simply Thorin.

Thorin, who commanded such loyalty that his friends abandoned their lives to face a dragon with him, who was so good an uncle that his nephews worshipped the ground he walked on, who carried the weight of the dead in his heart and the hope of the living on his shoulders.

His eyes came back to hers and he raised an eyebrow in question. “Bilba?”

She smiled, a genuine albeit small one, the first since she’d started remembering.

“I’m ready.”

He nodded. “Then let’s go.”

And with that he strode up the hill, footsteps eating up the distance.

Bilba followed.


	19. Chapter 19

Once back at camp Bilba submitted to Oin’s complaints as he re-bandaged her leg and hand, apologizing profusely the entire time for forcing him to repeat his work.

After he was finished she made her way to where Fili sat sharpening one of his knives and stood before him with her hands clasped in front of her.

At his raised eyebrow, she said, “I wanted to apologize for…attacking you…before.”

He grinned at her. “Was that an attack? I thought perhaps I had crumbs on my jacket and you were brushing them off.”

Bilba rolled her eyes in exasperation even as something in her relaxed at his easy forgiveness.

“Hold on,” Fili said suddenly, reaching down beside him, “I have something for you.”

He grabbed something and held it out to her. “It was in that cave with the other weapons. It’ll probably serve you better than the one you’ve been carrying.”

He was holding a small sword, long dagger really, complete with a sheath. Bilba took it carefully, surprised at its weight, and drew the weapon. The blade was long and curved with etching on the metal that shone and glittered as she turned it.

“It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. “Thank you!”

Fili beamed, looking pleased with himself.

Bilba carefully sheathed the sword again and strapped it on. As she did she glanced across the clearing and caught, for just a moment, Gandalf’s gaze. The man had barely spoken since she’d lit into him, seeming content to sit by himself and stare off into the distance. He'd become almost worse than Thorin in that regard. Bilba sighed; she’d have to speak with him too, but not right then. Perhaps she was a coward but, after talking to Thorin, she didn’t feel up to anymore talks just then.

Speaking of Thorin, he’d apparently decided late morning was long enough to rest up from the night before and was getting everyone up and ready to depart.

As she watched, Balin moved up next to him and began speaking in a low voice. His eyes darted toward her as they did, concern evident in them, and she looked away quickly.

She could guess what he was asking and what Thorin was telling him. A sense of relief flooded her. The story could be passed around without her having to retell it over and over again.

Moving over to her own pack she knelt gingerly and started getting ready to go. As she did Bilba experienced the unmistakable feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head.

She turned and found Nori leaning against a tree watching her, which wasn’t really new. Nori, she found, watched EVERYONE.

Of all the Dwarves in the Company he was the one she found the most…unusual. She could categorize the rest of the Dwarves. There was Thorin the Brooding Prince in Exile, the carefree Pretty Twins, Dwalin the Warrior, Balin the Scholar and so on and so forth.

Nori didn’t fit any category.

The way he dressed and wore his hair created a striking look but he usually chose to hang back and blend in. He involved himself in every conversation but hardly spoke, seemed to pay attention to nothing but she was sure saw everything.

Dwalin didn’t like him and Dori tried to keep Ori away from him. The word was that Nori was a thief but she was convinced it was more than that. There was no reason for Thorin to ask a thief along; particularly when he then went out and hired a Burglar as he so liked to call her.

No, there was something more to Nori.

He raised an eyebrow and Bilba realized, with a start, that she’d been staring. She jerked her head away and saw caught Thorin looking between her and Nori with a frown. Bilba raised an eyebrow at him in confusion, then shrugged and finished packing, eventually taking her old sword to her pony and strapping it on to the saddle before shouldering her pack and mounting. The rest followed suit and soon the company was moving out.

As they did Bilba deliberately stopped herself from looking over her shoulder back the way they’d come. She needed to focus on the present for now, not the past. Still, her throat clogged slightly and her eyes burned at the thought of leaving her parents yet again. She couldn’t put a finger on why but she had a feeling it would be a long time before she would be able to visit again.

As usual Thorin headed the group with Gandalf and Dwalin near him. Bilba rode near the back with Fili and Kili just in front of her speaking animatedly to Ori. The rest stretched out between, with the exception of Nori who, for some reason, was riding several paces behind her.

Desiring a distraction, Bilba pulled back lightly until she rode next to him, a slight gap between them and the rest of the group.

“You were staring at me earlier, is there something you wanted?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering when you planned on telling him.”

Bilba frowned. “When I planned on telling who what?”

Nori nodded toward the head of the line. “When you planned on telling Thorin about going all the way to Erebor. From the lack of shouting I’d guess you haven’t mentioned it yet.”

Bilba chewed on her lower lip absently, wondering how he'd come to that conclusion but having no desire to verify it for him. “You’re like a spy, aren’t you? That’s why Thorin brought you along, so you could spy on everything for him.”

He turned to look at her, a slow smile creeping over his face at her blatant effort to deflect the conversation. “Something like that.”

“You must not be very good,” Bilba mused, “if a simple Hobbit noticed.”

He snorted. “I’ve never met a simple anyone who knew Black Speech.”

“My mother taught me,” Bilba explained. “I don’t know where she learned it, probably on one of her adventures with--”

Her voice trailed off, she didn’t really feel like speaking Gandalf’s name at the moment.

At the front of the line Dwalin leaned over to say something to Thorin which had him twisting around to look at her and Nori.

Bilba frowned. “What did you do to earn that look?”

He laughed. “I imagine it’s less what I did and more what I’m doing.”

“And what’s that?”

Thorin was still looking and now a slow smile spread across Nori’s face. With his eyebrows braided up as they were it gave him a truly wicked look. He nudged his horse closer and leaned over toward her. “I have a proposition for you.”

“You do?” Bilba asked in surprise. She looked away from Thorin and focused her attention on him, leaning over and dropping her voice to match the low tone he was using though she didn’t know why. “What?”

“I want you to teach me Black Speech. It’s quite a useful skill to have when one is spying on one’s enemies.”

“If that one were a spy of course,” Bilba said with a slight grin.

“Of course,” Nori said, deadpan.

They were both holding themselves at awkward angles which forced their ponies to slow down and widened the gap between them and the others.

“So in return for me teaching you Black Speech,” Bilba said, “what do I get?”

At this Nori actually managed to lean even closer. “How about lessons in Khuzdul that don’t require you having to do a poor job of eavesdropping on Bifur?”

Bilba stared at him and then slowly felt her face break out in a truly brilliant smile. “I think I would like that, Master Dwarf, very much.”

Nori nodded and started to say something else but was suddenly forced back as a massive bulk shoved between them. Bilba looked up, startled, to see Dwalin casually shoving himself and his pony smack in the middle of them, forcing Nori several yards away.

On Dwalin’s other side Nori was looking up toward the front of the line with a mischievous look and Bilba followed his gaze just in time to see Thorin turn away and face forward.

“Master Dwalin,” she said in surprise. “What are you doing back here?”

He grumbled something under his breath and then said, “Thorin didn’t like how far back you were hanging. It’s dangerous out here.”

As if she didn’t know that already. Bilba sighed, she would never understand dwarves.

Nori headed past them, moving to ride near his brothers without actually being with them as he normally did. They made an odd set, the two older ones placing Ori between them even though they weren’t speaking to one another.

A thought occurred to her. “Do you think Dori dresses like that and acts so incredibly proper all the time to try and offset Nori’s influence on Ori?’

Dwalin grunted. “Probably.”

Movement signaled the arrival of Fili and Kili as she spoke. Fili dropped just behind her while Kili rode on her side opposite from where Dwalin was.

“They’re probably trying to balance him out,” Kili said cheerfully. “Nori is an incredibly bad influence while Dori is an incredibly good influence. Between the both of them Ori might actually turn out normal.”

Or so smothered the boy couldn’t breathe without his brothers making sure he wasn’t coming down with something. Bilba had barely had a chance to talk to him as every time they rode or stopped his brothers were clustered tightly around him.

A commotion drew her attention to the left and she tensed at the sound of something large moving through the trees.

A howl split the air. Bilba felt her blood run cold. “What was that? A wolf?”

“No,” Dwalin said, his voice hard. “That was no wolf.”

Thorin had ordered a halt to the line and was standing in his stirrups, trying to see through the trees around them.

A second howl split the air and now the horses were beginning to act up. Bilba struggled to control hers as a third howl sounded, just behind them.

Thorin twisted in his saddle, looking back.

A moment later he shouted, “orc pack! RUN!”

Bilba felt her blood run cold, orcs? As in ORCS? Like, real ones?

She had no time to consider it further, though, as the group began to run. She went from sitting quietly on the pony to clinging in desperation as they galloped across the ground. Bilba wasn’t an exceptional rider. She knew how to sit and not fall off but not when the pony was terrified and fleeing from creatures that wanted to eat it.

They broke out from the trees, empty land spread out ahead of them. Risking a glance over her shoulder Bilba felt the blood drain from her face at the sight of Orcs astride giant beasts exiting the woods after them.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and turned back around. Her body continued to bounce and jolt, so hard that when she bounced particularly high and landed with a jarring thud it took her a few seconds to realize she’d hit not the pony, but the ground.

Ahead of her the Dwarves were still running, every step taking them farther away while, behind, the Orcs were quickly catching up.

Bilba got up, her body shaking. She turned, drawing her sword.

It was absurd, utterly absurd. There were at least a dozen of them not counting those things they were riding.

Her eyes widened as they bore down on her and her breathing was harsh in her own ears.

It looked like fate simply wouldn’t stand for a Baggins’ reaching Rivendell.

A roar sounded behind her and suddenly Dwalin was riding past her, his warhammer swinging in the air as he charged the Orcs. Several of them dove out of the way in shock before rebounding back toward him.

An arm closed around her waist and Bilba suddenly found herself on a pony, a strong arm wrapped around her.

“Hold on,” Fili’s voice commanded. The pony spun to a stop, nearly falling as it turned back the way they’d come.

Bilba caught a glimpse of Kili firing arrows from the back of his own mount, before turning to flee as well. Fili twisted in his saddle, sending several knives flicking behind them and they were flying across the plains to try and catch up with the others.

Behind them the creatures continued to give chase. Bilba felt the wargs snapping at them, could almost feel their breath in her ear. Against her back she could feel a light tremor running through Fili and was startled to realize he was scared too.

Well of course he’s scared, a voice chided her in her mind, giant dogs are trying to EAT him.

She was growing exceptionally weary of things trying to eat her and the ones she cared about.

Bilba struggled to swallow, her hands tightening in the mane of the pony.

Ahead Thorin had turned and was now thundering back toward them. He must have realized they weren’t going to make it. The others started turning as well and Bilba felt despair at the thought they would be caught thanks to her inability to hold onto a pony.

A horn sounded.

What?

Hoofbeats thundered from nearby and suddenly full grown horses were there, racing between the Dwarves and Orcs, cutting them off with a precision born of long practice.

Fili reined in his pony and watched as the Orcs were cut down.

Elves, Bilba thought, watching the lean beings gracefully destroying the Orcs as though they were at a dance rather than at war.

The battle, if it could be called that, was over in seconds, long enough for the rest of the company to return and regroup around them.

One of the Elves, tall and lean with long dark hair came forward and spoke quietly to Gandalf before addressing Thorin.

Elrond, Bilba realized. She’d recognize him anywhere from the pictures her mother often showed her. Once she’d have been near delirious with joy at meeting him. Now, however, she felt nothing.

The opportunity to meet him hadn’t been worth the cost she had paid then or the cost she had nearly paid now.

Thorin looked annoyed, but then he always looked annoyed so who knew what he was truly thinking. She knew he was angry over having to ask Elrond for help and being saved from Orcs by Elves probably didn’t make him feel much better.

Suddenly Thorin turned and pointed toward her. Bilba stiffened and felt Fili’s arm tighten around her in reassurance.

“Why is he pointing at me?” she hissed. Thorin gestured, motioning her forward. “Wait,” Bilba insisted. “He’s pointing at you, right? You can let me down first.”

The last thing she wanted was to be the focus of attention of someone like Elrond. Fili chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Relax, I don’t think he means any harm.”

Then they were moving forward. Bilba made a strangled sound and then forced a polite smile onto her face as they approached.

“Here she is,” Thorin was saying. “Bilba Baggins of the Shire.”

Elrond inclined his head. “Greetings, Miss Baggins. We’ve been watching for you.”

Bilba hesitated and then greeted him softly in Sindarin, stumbling only slightly over the words as her nerves got the best of her. At the end she asked politely how it was they knew her or knew to look for her.

“Mahal,” Fili muttered. “Just how many languages do you speak?”

Thorin too was looking at her, impressed, and Bilba gave a slight grin at the sight. It was about time he realized there was more to her than just being a Hobbit.

Elrond, for his part, looked delighted and quickly responded to her in kind, complimenting her on her pronunciation and lack of accent.

Then, for the courtesy of the rest, he switched back to Common. “We had letters arrive for you, shortly after you must have left your home. They alerted us to your coming and we’ve been watching the roads.” His eyes glittered as he shot a distasteful look at the Orc corpses. “You’re lucky we did, we might not have been in time to help you otherwise.”

Letters? Bilba thought. She had letters? Her stomach twisted at the thought that someone would have written her so soon after she’d left. Had something gone wrong?

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Fili whispered.

“I hope so,” Bilba answered.

The Elves started off toward Rivendell and Thorin and the rest followed them. Bilba found herself riding next to Thorin as he and Fili discussed their mutual disgust at having to seek help from the Elves. They spoke in Khuzdul, a fact which would have made her happy usually but, now, she barely focused on it.

All she could think of were the letters, her gut twisting at the endless thoughts of what could have gone wrong in the short time she’d been gone.

As far as she was concerned they couldn’t reach Rivendell soon enough.


	20. Chapter 20

The rest of the trip to Rivendell was leisurely, or as leisurely as it could get when it came to Elves and Dwarves in proximity to one another.

Most of the Company kept to themselves or clustered around Thorin and the Pretty Twins, as though they had some odd notion the Elves would suddenly attack the three royals without provocation.

Personally, knowing Thorin as she did, Bilba felt any attack against him would most likely have plenty of provocation at its core.

Even then he was continuing to mutter unflattering things against the Elves, all in Khuzdul of course.

Gandalf rode at the head of the group deep in conversation with Elrond and most of the Elves rode with them.

Bilba found herself falling back, content to look at the scenery and enjoy not having anything trying to kill her at the moment.

“My father says you are Bilba Baggins, yes? Are you perhaps related to Belladonna?”

Bilba looked up at the Elf who’d drawn alongside her. Before she could respond a second one, identical to the first in appearance, came along her other side.

“You must be Elrond’s sons,” Bilba said in Sindarin, remembering stories her mother had told her. “Forgive me for I am quite unable to tell you apart.”

The one on her right laughed. “It is rare anyone can and you have only just met us, after all. I am Elladan.”

Bilba nodded and looked to the Elf on her left. “Which would make you Elrohir.” She hesitated. “Belladonna was my mother.”

Elladan looked startled. “Indeed? I wasn’t aware she had children. She never mentioned any during her visits.”

On her other side Elrohir made an odd noise. Elladan’s eyes widened and he began stammering. “I mean…well…what I meant to say was--”

“It’s fine,” Bilba said shortly. It was little surprise her mother never mentioned them. She was quick enough to run off with Gandalf any time he came calling, leaving her children behind for months at a time.

She used to believe the fact her mother returned at all was proof of her love. Given what happened in the end, though, she wondered if it was her father, rather than her and Bungo her mother returned for.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Elrohir said, “how is she? She used to visit all the time but we haven’t seen her in a little while.”

Nearly a decade ago, Bilba thought sourly. Her mother had often spoken of the two as close friends but they hadn’t bothered to so much as inquire after Belladonna even once, despite her sudden absence.

“She died,” Bilba said flatly. The two both jerked slightly in their saddles, startled. Before they could question her further Bilba spurred her pony ahead of them. She considered going back to Thorin and Fili but, just from a glance, it would appear they hadn’t yet tired of insulting the Elves. Going by the fact she hadn’t heard them repeat a single insult she wondered if it wasn’t some sort of bizarre hobby they practiced on a regular basis.

Instead she found Nori, riding along the outskirts as usual, though nearest to Dori and Ori.

“Want to start that first lesson?” She asked.

“You want to start teaching me Black Speech while we’re surrounded by Elves?” He asked in surprise.

Bilba smiled sweetly. “Why not?”

Nori gave her an admiring look. “You are certainly an interesting Hobbit.”

“No need to be insulting,” Bilba replied dryly.

Nori started to say something else but trailed off, his eyes going past her.

Bilba followed his gaze and saw Ori drawing up alongside her, keeping her between him and his brother.

“Did I hear you mention you were going to teach Nori Black Speech?” he asked quietly. “Would you mind if I listened in? I’m always interested in new languages.”

“Of course,” Bilba said lightly, hiding a pang of regret. Nori wouldn’t be able to help her with her Khuzdul with Ori around.

Still, it would be worth it to watch the Elves cringe as she spoke fluent Black Speech in their presence. They could consider it a fair trade for all the time they’d had with her mother that she hadn’t had.

She didn’t bother to lower her voice as she began and, several yards ahead, saw Thorin and Fili both jerk around in their saddles to stare at her. Around them the Elves stiffened and even Elrond at the head looked back at her, askance.

Kili, who rode next to Thorin, near doubled over in his saddle with laughter. Thorin caught her eye, an approving look mixed with something she couldn’t identify, before he turned away once more.

A warm glow spread through her body and Bilba felt herself sit up straighter in the saddle. None of the Elves stopped her and she continued the lesson all the way till Rivendell itself came into sight.

At that point she did stop, but only because she was so fascinated by the sight of the last Homely House that her words were fair stolen from her entirely.

The approach was along a narrow ledge with rock on one side and a drop on the other. As they moved down it the sight that greeted them was a wide valley rife with waterfalls and lush greenery.

Rivendell itself was comprised of buildings designed to be as open air as possible with arching bridges and walkways connecting them.

Did it never rain? Bilba wondered. What about snow? It was beautiful, just as her mother had said, but it didn’t seem all that practical.

Bungo would have loved it though. Her heart grew heavy at the thought and her shoulders slumped slightly. If life were the slightest bit fair this would have been her second time visiting, the first being with her family.

Of course, if that had happened it would mean they’d made it safely and probably safely home again. Would she have gone with the Dwarves at all if her family had been still alive?

No. Her father would have forbidden it and her mother…Bilba felt a flash of annoyance at the realization that Belladonna probably would have gone in her place.

They reached the bottom of the path where it opened to a large stone bridge passing over a river. Bilba found herself riding next to Kili who, as usual, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. The way his eyes darted about made her wonder if he’d ever seen Rivendell and she asked him about it.

“Of course not,” he responded, “no Dwarf would be caught dead in the company of Elves unless there was no other choice.”

“Like needing them to read Dwarvish words written by your own great-grandfather?” Bilba asked dryly.

Kili sighed, his eyes darkening for just an instant. “A lot was lost when Erebor fell.”

“I’m surprised Thorin didn’t learn it,” Bilba said, feeling a flash of guilt for upsetting him.

“He was too young,” Kili said his voice quiet. “Only twenty-four. He hadn’t even reached his majority yet.”

Twenty-four, Bilba thought. Kili and Fili had told her previously they were in their late 70’s, early 80’s and, from what she could tell, would still be considered in their Tweens in the Shire.

Thorin had been a child when Erebor fell.

“What about that battle he fought in?” She said suddenly. “How old was he then?”

Fili had fallen back to join them and answered. “About fifty-five I believe.”

Kili nodded. “That sounds right.”

Younger than either of them, barely a child and he’d lost so much.

Bilba knew enough about Dwarves to know they lived an exceptionally long time, upwards of five hundred years. For Thorin to have gone through so much in so short a time span was shocking.

“How old is he now?” She asked. He looked like a healthy Dwarf in his prime but he had to be older than both Fili and Kili.

“I think he’s about one hundred and twenty five,” Fili said. He gave her a sidelong look. “Why all this interest in Uncle and his age all of the sudden?”

“No reason,” Bilba said. “It’s just sad how much he’s been through already.”

“You’ve been through a lot yourself,” Fili said.

“Also before my majority,” Bilba replied softly. “And maybe more still. I’ve still got another three years to go.”

“Really?” Fili said. He frowned at her. “When do Hobbits reach their majority?”

“Thirty-three.” As Bilba spoke she leaned over the side of the horse to get a look at the river they were crossing. It appeared shallow with large pebbles lining both sides. She had a sudden desire to go splash around in it and hoped to get the chance before they left.

She straightened back up and, to her surprise, realized she was alone. The others had gone on ahead of her and a look back showed Fili and Kili dead still on their ponies staring at her.

“What’s wrong?” She asked in confusion.

Kili made a choking noise. “You’re THIRTY??? I thought you said you were the same age as me and Fili!”

“I am!” Bilba said shortly. “Maturity wise. Hobbits don’t live as long as Dwarves. I’m thirty years into what will most likely be a 100 year lifespan, if I’m lucky. I’ll reach my majority in three more years.”

“But,” Fili said, his voice stunned. “You live alone!”

“The Thain is in charge of my finances,” Bilba said, annoyed. “And Seth and Priscilla check up on me. And no,” she said firmly before they could say what she knew they were thinking, “I did not have to ask them permission to go. I’m not a child. The Thain keeps track of my finances through formality only. He knows I’m more than capable of handling things on my own but our laws state I must be of a certain age first. As I said, maturity wise, I’m probably right between the two of you.”

They were both still staring at her in shock and Bilba rolled her eyes. “One hundred years, boys. Stop trying to judge me as though I were a Dwarf.”

Honestly, they MUST be young if they were that shocked to find out other races lived shorter lifespans than they did.

For a second she considered the idea herself. If she was blessed, and so far she had been anything but, she might live another seventy years. Fili and Kili and Thorin had hundreds of years spreading out before them. Their friendship with her would be but a brief candle in that time span, barely worth remembrance by the end.

The same could be said for the entire Company. All of them would one day pass on without her and, in their long lives, would no doubt utterly forget her. Her mind went to Elladan and his brother. Her mother had spoken of them as though they were her best friends, near inseparable when she visited but they hadn’t even noticed ten years had passed since the last time they spoke. She’d been dead ten years and they considered it but a little while. Perhaps such was the lot of those who lived so much longer, or didn’t die at all. The short life of a Man or a Hobbit was nothing to them, a passing fancy snuffed out and forgotten in an instant.

With a frown she turned her back on the two of them and continued on into Rivendell. She hadn’t intended for her thoughts to go down so dark a road.

The others had gathered already in a large, round area. A wide set of steps led up to another level and Thorin and several of the others were already heading up them.

Bilba hurried to catch up. She ended up walking next to Balin as they reached the top of the steps.

For the first time she really noticed his white hair and beard and found herself staring at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Problem, lassie?

She blushed. “I was thinking how much you must have seen in your life.” She frowned. “I mean, not that I’m saying--”

He chuckled. “It’s all right. You could say I’ve seen more than most, though less than this lot.” He motioned, indicating the Elves.

“Are you married?” She found herself asking. “If so you must have a lot of children.”

They were walking down a long corridor as she spoke. The ground was littered with leaves and other forest debris that crunched under her feet as she walked. Usually she would think it untidy but, here, it just seemed to add to the atmosphere.

“I’m afraid not,” Balin said. “I was married once, but she was lost when Erebor fell. We had no children.”

Bilba flinched. “I’m sorry. You’ve never remarried?”

“It isn’t our way,” Balin answered, his voice tinged with sadness. “For Dwarves, once is all there is.”

“Really?” Bilba said in surprise. “Only once, no matter what?”

“Is it not so for Hobbits?” Balin asked, looking at her in curiosity.

“Hobbits usually marry only once,” Bilba said, “but it’s not unknown to marry again if one of them passes away. It’s also not unheard of for a marriage to end for various reasons and one or both to remarry.”

Balin nodded. “You are much like the Men then. It is not the same for Dwarves. We have but one partner our entire life no matter what.”

“It must be lonely,” Bilba whispered and then immediately mentally kicked herself. “I’m sorry--”

“It’s all right,” Balin said. “You are correct.”

They lapsed into silence.

The Elves showed them to rooms, Thorin and his nephews first. As they vanished inside Bilba nodded after them.

“Do they have partners?”

“No,” Balin said. “The boys have yet to meet anyone and Thorin.” He sighed in exasperation. “Thorin is far to obsessed with everyone else’s fate to give consideration to his own.”

That figured Bilba thought. She had no doubt Thorin prided himself on being an enigma, selfless but with a big mouth.

“I do think, however,” Balin said suddenly, “he may have finally started to look to himself of late.”

“Really?” Bilba looked toward the room where Thorin had vanished with his nephews. “He met someone?”

Balin gave her an amused, affectionate look. “I believe he has.”

“That’s good,” Bilba said. “Hopefully she’s someone able to keep him in line.”

“I suppose we shall see,” came the mild reply. “Though so far she has shown little trouble in doing so.”

One of the Elves came up to show Balin to his room and he took his leave of her.

Bilba waited at the back as the rest were shown to quarters to get cleaned up and ready for dinner.

Leaning against a wall she wondered about the kind of woman that would catch the eye of Thorin Oakenshield. She was no doubt beautiful. Bilba could just picture her, long flowing hair, brilliant eyes, a musical voice and flawless, porcelain skin. She probably dressed impeccably in flowing skirts with ribbons and jewels perfectly complimenting her beauty.

She was probably demure, quiet and ladylike with perfect manners, but smart at the same time. Able to turn Thorin’s head with her social grace and charisma.

In short such a woman would be the complete anathema of Bilba with her ragged, short cropped hair, trousers, and inability to act like a normal Hobbit no matter how hard she tried.

Bilba blinked, where did that come from? What did it matter to her if she was Thorin’s ideal woman or not?

“Miss Baggins? If you would come this way I’ll show you to your room.”

Her train of thought broken, Bilba looked up to see one of the Elven twins standing there, she had no idea which. She also realized that the two of them were the only ones currently in the corridor, the others having all vanished to their own rooms or elsewhere.

She pushed up off the wall. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

Her own room, as it turned out, was only a few steps away, close to the one Thorin and the Pretty Twins had been shown.

Inside, to her everlasting joy, she found a number of Elven maidens in the process of filling a tub for her with steaming hot water.

“Oh,” Bilba said. “I think I could kiss the lot of you right now.”

The Elf laughed. “I’ll have to alert my father to the newest idea of diplomacy, offering hot baths to weary travelers.”

“It would be effective,” Bilba said instantly. Her eyes traveled toward the bed and stopped at the sight of the dress laid over it. Her throat tightened and she stepped over, one hand lifting lightly to run over the material.

Behind her the Elf cleared his throat. “It was left by your mother the last time she visited. I thought you might want it, at least while your things are cleaned.” He hesitated a moment and then, “I do wish to apologize if my brother and I hurt you with our lack of sensitivity, it was not my intent.”

Elrohir then, Bilba thought. He seemed to have a better awareness of how his words impacted others. She swallowed, letting a breath out and then turned with a smile.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. He reached in a back pocket and pulled out a packet tied together with twine. “I believe my father told you of the letters waiting for you.” He stepped over and laid them next to the dress. “I’ll leave them here for you.”

He gave another nod and then left. The women finished filling the bath a few minutes later and followed leaving Bilba alone.

Deciding not to waste time she quickly undressed and got in the tub, groaning in happiness at the feel of hot water against her skin. She took her time bathing, relaxing until the heat was utterly gone and the water grew downright cold.

Finally she got out and dried off before dressing in her underclothes and then reverently picking up her mother’s dress. It would be entirely impractical for the journey of course but there was no reason she couldn’t wear it for now. Maybe she could pretend her mother had actually left it for her there, instead of thinking her mother had left her for it and everything else Rivendell had to offer.

She pulled it on and slid her arms through the sleeves. To her surprise the dress fit almost perfectly, forming to her body as though made for her. Apparently she must be close to her mother, in size at least. She doubted if anyone would think her Belladonna’s daughter based on looks. Her mother had been one of the most beautiful Hobbits in the Shire and many a heart had been broken when she’d finally agreed to marry Bilba’s father.

Settling at a small table with a low mirror Bilba started in on her hair. It had grown longer already, much to her annoyance. Hobbits, for whatever reason were blessed, or cursed as Bilba personally believed, with exceptionally fast growing hair. Hers, irritatingly enough, had already grown out to well past her jawline where she preferred to wear it and was nearly to her shoulders. She considered cutting it but then decided against it and instead simply brushed it out. There was nothing to tie it back with but she spotted a few potted flowers near the far wall and it was little effort to break off a few and use them to tie a portion of her hair back from her face.

She glanced at the result in the mirror and then sighed, it would have to do.

Turning away she headed back to the bed and sat in the middle, picking up the letters as she did.

There were three of them. One was from the Thain and she felt her gut clench at it. She hadn’t lied to Fili and Kili. She was effectively an adult and able to leave without asking permission but the thought of upsetting the Thain, who also happened to be her grandfather, still disquieted her.

She set the letter down and glanced at the second, it was from Priscilla.

The third was from Fram.

Bilba stared at it in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to write her. She stared at the neat writing, waiting for the inevitable feel of butterflies in her stomach she always got when she thought of him.

She felt…something…but couldn’t quite define what the feeling was.

It only took a second to decide on what letter to open first. She set down the one from Fram and picked up the letter from Priscilla, opening it quickly.

_Dear Bilba,_

_While I can’t fault you for wanting to find out what happened to your parents I do question the impulsiveness of your decision. Really, running off with a group of strange Dwarves you’d barely met? I can only imagine your failure to tell me and Seth stems from knowing how against it we both would have been._

_I understand your reasoning but it hurts to know you never shared anything with us aside from the initial knowledge that a group of Dwarves had shown up at your house._

_It hurts even more to find that you apparently DID tell Fram and, in fact, according to him, offered to let him stay in Bag End for the duration of your absence!_

_Honestly, Bilba, what WERE you thinking? I feel Fram must have misunderstood you for surely you would never give permission to a male to live in your home like that, even without your being there._

_The events of these past few days have led me to believe I have failed to do right by you. Belladonna and I were always such close friends and, after her loss, I felt it only right for me to step in and do my best to ensure you lived in safety and peace. I fear, however, I may have gone to far and left you at a disadvantage._

_There are consequences, Bilba, to every action we take. I learned it early as did your mother though, as we both know, she tragically did not heed what she learned. I know you must have considered what it would look like to run off with a group of strange Dwarves. No doubt you know well the rumors spread about Belladonna._

_Hobbits do not go on adventures, my dear, even if it’s to find out what happened to their parents. The same Hobbits who spread such vicious rumors about your mother are still here, along with a few more, and are only too happy to focus their slander on a new target._

_I have done my best to mitigate it, as I’m sure you knew I would. I have explained you went only as far as Rivendell and it was on a mission to discover the truth of what happened to your family. I explained that, while technically unescorted, you traveled with Gandalf, an old family friend dating back to your childhood, and he is as good an escort as any kin. I made sure to point out that no harm ever befell your mother while she was in his company._

_So far I feel I have appeased many and that most are allowing the rumors to simply die out and are refusing to spread them. You know as well as I do, however, that rumors have a life of their own and tend to grow far worse the longer they are allowed to fester. I urge you, therefore, to return as soon as possible._

_I wish you well in your travels and hope you were able to find the truth of what happened to your family. Belladonna was my best friend and I would like to know her fate as well as anyone._

_Until we meet again may the Valar keep you and Eru guide your steps._

_Priscilla_

By the time she was finished reading tears were tracking down Bilba’s face. She hurriedly wiped them off and set the letter aside with shaking hands.

She knew what, and who, Priscilla was talking about.

Lobelia. She should have known her leaving would be like an invitation to that horrible woman. It was well established in the Shire that Lobelia and Belladonna had fought over the same man, with Belladonna eventually coming out the victor and marrying him. Lobelia’s hatred had been well rooted, particularly when her efforts to throw herself at Bilba’s father every time Belladonna was gone were rebuffed.

She’d been the one to tarnish Belladonna’s reputation, spreading rumors about where she really went on her adventures. As far as Lobelia was concerned Belladonna was off cheating on Bilba’s father with half of Middle Earth. Lobelia, at times, had even gone so far as to try and suggest that Bilba’s ears were a little TOO pointed or Bungo’s feet weren’t quite hairy enough, suggesting something other than a pure Hobbit heritage.

After her family’s loss Lobelia had wasted no time in insisting Belladonna had brought her death upon herself and her family. Bilba privately agreed with her but it still rankled to hear it coming from that woman’s lips. It had taken intervention from the Thain, grieving himself over the loss of his daughter, to make her quiet though she’d never entirely stopped. Instead she’d grown sneakier, spreading falsehoods through implication, suggestion and innuendo.

Most of the Shire believed her, Bilba knew. She’d tried to be polite to the woman, gritting her teeth every time she stopped by. Lobelia had tried to take over Bilba’s parenting after she’d been left alone, stating she would be able to undo all the bad influence of Belladonna. Bilba could remember, time after time being dragged away from playing with others her age, particularly boys, to be lectured by Lobelia on propriety and proper etiquette.

She’d hoped, in vain it would seem, to convince Lobelia she wasn’t bad and, in doing so, convince her that Belladonna had been all right as well. It was a foolish hope, she could see now, born of naivety.

Lobelia would never change and had apparently wasted not even a second in starting up her old ways once more the second Bilba had left.

Getting up, Bilba retrieved her sketchpad from her pack. She’d brought it along, hoping to finish her drawing of Fili but hadn’t yet had time.

Ripping a blank sheet out, she grabbed her pencil and began to write.

_Dear Priscilla,_

_I’m sorry for not telling you. You are right. I knew if I told you that you and Seth would be against it and I would have never had the heart to go against you. You are the closest thing I've ever had to a mother and the thought of letting you down wounds me deeply._

_Please understand, though, that if I had not gone I would have spent my life with emptiness in my soul where my family used to live. A wound that could never fully heal so long as I didn’t know what happened to them._

_I needed to know, Priscilla, as much as I now wish with equal fervor I hadn’t found out._

_They are dead._

_I know that comes as little surprise. Had they been alive we would have heard something by now. Still, I suppose there was always that small hope, foolish as it was, that maybe, just maybe they would return one day._

_I can say with certainty now that they will not. They are dead. Priscilla and they will not be coming back.”_

Bilba paused to wipe at her eyes again, mentally cursing as tears fell on the page and blurred the writing in a few spots.

She took a deep breath and continued on.

_The news about the rumors, as well as the instigator, is painful to hear. I know your thoughts, that if I were to return now, particularly with news of my family’s fate I would be forgiven. Who could fault me for wanting to know after all and, as you said, I did go with an old family friend as escort._

_Truly you have done your best to spin my impulsive actions in the best of light._

_And now I fear I must destroy all your good work utterly for I am not coming back, at least not for a very long time._

_I will not go into the details of Mother, Father and Bungo’s deaths for those are images I would not wish on anyone but, what I can say, is their deaths are avenged and it was at the hand of the Company’s leader, Thorin Oakenshield._

_I owe him a debt that can never be repaid, but I will do my best anyway. He embarks on a great quest to try and reclaim his home and I have decided I will help him, if I can._

_I do not know how long I will be gone. I pray that you will watch over my home and concerns while I’m gone. I know this is a lot to ask and you are, of course, under no obligation to do so._

_You always did right by me and I will forever be indebted to you for it. I hope to see you soon. I understand the consequences of my actions, and the actions of certain people in the Shire, may forever damage my reputation._

_I pray those consequences will not also include the love you have held for me all these years._

Bilba stopped, trying to think of what else to write. In the end she couldn’t think of anything, or at least anything she could properly articulate, and so simply signed her name and set it aside.

She made no mention of Fram or her promise to let him live in Bag End. In hindsight it was probably not the best decision. She remembered including a note in the letter she had left for Priscilla back in Hobbiton, giving Fram permission to stay in her home. The fact Priscilla was so clearly ignoring its existence showed the depth of her disapproval and, given the amount of effort Priscilla was clearly going to trying to salvage her reputation, Bilba had not the heart to challenge it.

She didn’t doubt Priscilla and Seth loved her and would love her still after she’d returned. That didn’t excuse her hurting them however and she mourned the strain she’d placed upon their relationship, a strain she couldn’t begin to fix until she’d returned in person.

As for the rumors, she only had herself to blame. She’d been the one to run off after all. Not only that but she’d isolated herself before that even, content to hole up inside Bag End and refuse to involve herself in the community. It left most people without a real understanding of who she was and gave Lobelia free rein to fill in the missing holes about her character with whatever information she saw fit.

She could only imagine what people might be saying by the time she returned.

She picked the second letter up from her grandfather.

_Bilba,_

_I received your letter but fail to understand your reasons. Your mother is gone and running after the past will not bring her, or your father or brother, back._

_At best it will simply reopen old wounds. At worst it will end in the same fate that took her from me._

_I will look for your return, shortly._

_Grandfather_

Bilba flinched. He was angry at her. Angry and worried most likely but she didn’t look forward to seeing him when she got back.

She pulled a second sheet out and spent several long minutes composing her reply.

_Dear Grandfather,_

_I am sorry for leaving so abruptly and sorrier still for being unable to let go of the past so readily as you have clearly done._

_I will not be returning for some time. I have left things in the care of Priscilla and Seth and you are free to do with my finances as you will._

She sounded like she was writing a last will and testament. Bilba tapped the pencil idly on the paper. Perhaps she was. They were going to face a DRAGON after all, on a quest they weren’t truly expected to even go in in the first place. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for a long and healthy life.

_I must have more of my mother in me than I ever admitted to myself for I am embarking on a quest that may well end in a fate similar to the one that befell her._

_I do not ask for your blessing for I know you will not give it. Instead I want you to know that I go of my own free will. I go to repay a debt and to help people who, in the short time I have spent with them, have become dear friends._

_I hope I am able to return within a year, perhaps a little longer. If not, however, then I ask that you please sign over Bag End to Priscilla and Seth and please give them my inheritance as well. They have always done right by me and the money and home will go far in helping them start the family I know they so desperately want._

_Good-bye for now Grandfather. I do hope our paths will cross again._

The letter was woefully inadequate. He deserved much more but the words didn’t seem to want to come. She set the letter aside, stared at it for a few moments and then went to her pack. She retrieved the rings and doll and brought them back, setting them gently on the letter. It wouldn’t be safe for them to go with her anyway and her Grandfather would keep them safe, of that she had no doubt.

“I am sorry, Grandfather,” she whispered. “But I must do this.”

She picked up the final letter. She’d purposely saved it for last. Fram already knew she’d gone, and for what reason, and supported her. At least in his letter she wouldn’t find any words of disappointment or appeals for her to return immediately.

Her eyes fixed on the neat writing across the envelope, spelling out her name. He’d promised to wait for her but that was when he’d thought she was just going to Rivendell and back.

Erebor was about as far from the Shire as one could get. It would be an entire year before she would make it back and that was assuming she survived the dragon at the end.

Would he still wait for her? Did she even have the right to ask it of him?

Did she even want him to?

She sighed, Fram was another one she couldn’t possibly measure up to. The fact he chose to pay any attention to her at all was proof of his character. He deserved far better than her.

She slid her finger under the flap and broke the seal.

_Dearest Bilba,_

_I pray this letter finds you well. It has been harder than I thought it would be without you. I have missed you every day and look for your return even though I know it will be several weeks before that happens._

_I’m afraid I have been unable to fulfill my promise to take care of Bag End for you. When I went to get the keys Priscilla was quite startled and didn’t believe me when I insisted you had given permission. Perhaps if you’d thought to give me the key before you rushed off on your adventure, or at least thought about me enough to leave a note giving permission, this would not have happened. I can see, though, how your own desires overrode the thought of anyone else so, of course, I will forgive you this lapse._

_Hopefully this letter will reach you in time for you to send a response back to Priscilla and let her know of our arrangement. I truly want to help you in any way I can and sitting on my heels doing nothing while Bag End languishes causes me to think I have failed you._

_Other than that all goes well here in Hobbiton and we await your return. Poppy recently brought me a large row of flowers she grew herself for my garden. They were all shades of blue, my favorite color. I planted them along the front walkway leading up to my front door. They are quite beautiful, poppies I am told so I will think of her every time I open the door._

_I wonder, what kind of flowers would you give me were you here? I would plant them in my window boxes so I might look upon them every time I opened my windows._

_Yours,_

_Fram_

_P.S. Oh, yes, I hope you found out what happened to your parents!_

Bilba studied the letter waiting for the butterflies that always accompanied any interaction with him. Just a few weeks ago reading words written by him would have given her a thrill racing up her spine. Now, as her eyes went over and over the words all she could see were…words.

The part about the flowers, at one time, would have had her racing home as fast as possible to try and save Fram from Poppy’s influence. Giving flowers to someone was a sign of affection among Hobbits, particularly flowers that reminded them of you. Fram said nothing about giving flowers back, a sign of official courtship, but he had accepted them.

She hadn’t known his favorite color was blue. Bilba studied the letter again; she’d known him for years. How had she not known his favorite color was blue?

And how had Poppy known?

 _You didn’t actually KNOW him;_ a voice whispered in her mind, _you just watched him. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice and that was just in the past few days._

Poppy knew him better than she did and, not only that, but would be there for him. It wasn’t fair, Bilba realized, to expect Fram to wait for her on the off chance she might survive this insane quest and return home.

As Priscilla said, actions have consequences.

Bilba swallowed and carefully tore out a third sheet of paper from her sketch pad.

_Fram,_

_I’m afraid things have not turned out as I had expected._

_I found out what happened to my family. It was ugly and I will not burden you down with the particulars of their fate._

_Originally I had fully planned on that being the end of it. I would discover their fate, or not, go to Rivendell and then come home._

_I cannot do that any longer._

_I owe a debt to the leader of this Company and I will see it repaid. In addition I have made friends, even in the short time in which I have been gone, and I cannot bear the thought of them going into danger without me._

_It is a fool’s errand we embark on. The odds of success are slim. The leader of the Company has promised untold riches in the event of success but I imagine most are here out of loyalty._

_I know that’s the reason I’m here._

_I would love to say I have confidence in the quest, Fram. I would love to boast and say that, in a year’s time, I will return loaded down with more wealth than any Hobbit would know what to do with but I doubt that will be the case._

_I doubt I will return at all._

_And, so, with that in mind…you should give flowers to Poppy. She can promise you a future where I cannot._

_I have left Bag End in the care of Priscilla and Seth. I could never ask you to look after it for me for a year or more and I doubt you would want to be saddled with a second home in the event I failed to return._

_I wish you all the luck in the world Fram._

_Good-bye._

The letter was short and ended abruptly but it was all Bilba could manage. She expected a sense of pain and loss as she set it aside but, to her surprise, felt very little.

It was possible, she conceded, she had been in more in love with the idea of Fram and the idea of love than she had ever actually been with Fram. If that were the case then this outcome was probably for the best after all.

Even if it did mean Fram marrying Poppy of all people.

Bilba sighed and lay down, carefully avoiding the letters.

Priscilla’s words ran back through her mind yet again.

_Actions have consequence._

Bilba would have thought she’d have learned that years ago when her mother announced their impending trip to Rivendell.

Clearly she’d been deluded, or somehow been arrogant enough to believe the consequences only affected others.

She was wrong.

And it was time to stop focusing on the consequences of her mother’s actions and start focusing on the consequences of her own.


	21. Chapter 21

Eventually Bilba forced herself to get up and leave the room. The sun was just beginning to drift toward the horizon making it late afternoon, early evening.

She wandered for a while, trailing along small paths and streams. The place was beautiful and very peaceful she had to admit. At the same time, however, she had a feeling she’d end up quite bored eventually. What had her mother seen in the place to keep her returning? Bilba always pictured Rivendell as some action packed place but, in reality, it was not that unlike the Shire.

So what had her mother found other than a place her children were not?

Rounding a corner she saw steps leading down and followed them into a small underground room. A massive painting dominated the near wall depicting the scene every person in Middle Earth knew well, the moment Isildur cut the ring from the hand of Sauron.

Bilba felt a thrill run through her at the sight and carefully reached a hand up to gently touch the painting. How old was it? It was in Rivendell after all, as far as she knew it could date all the way back to the First Age. Something deep inside her stirred and she considered the possibility that her love of history and adventure wasn't quite so dead as she once thought.

She put her hand down and turned to explore the rest of the room. Almost directly behind her stood a statue of a woman gazing down on the remnants of a sword. In spite of herself, Bilba felt her eyes widen. The sword was identical to the one in the painting behind her which meant it could only be --

She stepped closer, almost shaking in anticipation of being so close to history.

The shards of Narsil. The very SWORD that cut the ring from Sauron’s hand. Why had her mother never told her it was in Rivendell?

Reverently she crept up the small stairs in front of the statue and gazed down on the glittering pieces.

“You can pick it up if you want.”

Bilba jerked and twisted to see a tall figure lounging in a chair near the back of the room, nearly hidden by shadow.

He stood and stepped forward, one hand raised in apology while the other set a book down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right,” Bilba said, one hand over her heart as her pulse slowly went back to normal. “I should have been paying closer attention.”

He moved forward and she could see he was young, and very tall, with dark hair to his shoulders. He also had rounded ears.

“You’re a Man!” She blurted, and then flushed immediately.

He laughed. “Indeed.” He gave a dramatic bow. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn at your service my Lady.”

Bilba giggled and dipped into a curtsey matching the theatrics of his bow. “Bilba Baggins of the Shire, at yours.”

He jumped up beside her in one easy leap, bypassing the stairs entirely. Reaching out he gently lifted the hilt of the sword then turned and offered it to her. “Be careful, it’s still sharp.”

Bilba nodded, her eyes wide as she stared at the blade. She started to take it and then jerked her hands back at the thought of touching so important a blade.

He laughed. "It's fine, go ahead."

Bilba nodded. She chewed on her lower lip a second, let out a breath and gently took the blade. A grin started of its own accord as she hefted the hilt, eyes traveling up to the remnants of the blade.

“Poor Isildur,” she whispered without thinking, “he should have been remembered as a hero alone.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?” His eyes darkened and, when he spoke again, his words were hard. “He failed in the end. He kept the ring for himself when it should have been destroyed.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “And where were his friends? Why did no one take the ring from him and throw it in Mount Doom?"

Aragorn looked startled. "I imagine they felt it wasn't their place."

"It's the embodiment of all evil," Bilba said in exasperation. "I'm pretty sure propriety could have been set aside to ensure its destruction. They're fortunate the ring was lost to the sea, otherwise they would have had much to answer for." She sighed. "I suppose they already have much to answer for, to Isildur at least. The legends all state the ring has a will of its own so how do they know it wasn't exerting influence over him? He may well have thanked someone for saving him from it.” She sighed, studying the blade again. “I never understood why blame was always laid so squarely at his feet. He saved the world only to be abandoned by his friends to the power of the ring.”

Silence greeted her words and Bilba tensed suddenly, had she really said all that out loud? She risked a look and saw Aragon staring at her, his face a mixture of emotion.

“I--” He started, then stopped, clearly taking a moment to compose himself. It was clear the words had affected him though Bilba could not imagine why. “I had never thought of it that way,” he said finally. “You have a unique perspective on the world, my Lady.”

“I suppose our personal experiences greatly affect how we see things,” she said, a trace of sadness in her voice. “And it’s Bilba, please. If you keep saying my Lady I’ll embarrass myself by looking around to see who you’re addressing.”

He inclined his head. “Only if you will return the favor.”

Bilba smiled at him and gently handed the sword back to be returned to the pedestal. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Aragorn.”

Aragorn set the sword back down, carefully arranging it next to the other pieces. “If you don’t mind my curiosity, what has drawn a Hobbit so far from the Shire?”

“A quest,” Bilba said immediately and then frowned. Did Thorin want people knowing? Well, to be fair, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out. At her home they’d been going on about portents and signs that anyone could read and it wouldn’t take much to connect why Thorin Oakenshield might be heading to Erebor. “I came with the Dwarves.”

He nodded. “You are a most unusual Hobbit then.”

She nodded, resigned. “It has been mentioned before.”

He started to say something else, possibly to ask about the nature of the quest but, before he could they both heard the sound of a boot scraping against stone near the entrance to the room.

“Bilba? Are you in here?”

A shadow fell over the floor followed almost immediately by Kili. His eyes found hers and relaxed, only to immediately harden with suspicion at the sight of Aragorn.

“Who are you?”

Aragorn introduced himself and, after a brief pause, Kili did likewise. He then immediately turned toward Bilba again.

“The others are at dinner if you want to go.”

As if in reply, Bilba’s stomach rumbled loudly. She flushed and turned to Aragorn. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” he said. “It was nice speaking to you.”

“You too,” she said before turning to Kili.

To her surprise he held an arm out. She gave him an exasperated look then slid her hand around his bicep. He crooked his arm, drawing her in close, gave Aragorn what could only be described as a proprietary look and then escorted her out.

“Was that really necessary?” Bilba asked after they’d left.

Kili shrugged. “Perhaps not, but it was fun.”

Bilba shook her head. “Your poor mother.”

Kili grinned. “Indeed." He nodded at her. "I like your dress, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Bilba replied, grateful someone had noticed. “It was my mother’s. I imagine I don’t look nearly as good as she did wearing it but--”

“I can’t imagine how beautiful your mother must have been to look more beautiful than you do,” Kili said casually.

Bilba stared at him, dumbfounded. She floundered for a moment or two before finally settling on a simple, quiet thank you. Kili beamed in response and Bilba felt a surge of affection toward the young Dwarf.

“You don’t happen to have a sister do you?” She asked suddenly.

“No,” Kili said, “why?”

“I was just thinking she would have been lucky,” Bilba mused. “Having the two of you for brothers.”

Kili looked startled. Then his face reddened and he turned his face away quickly. His back went straighter, she noticed, and when he led her into the dining area a moment later his head was held high, a Prince of Erebor in every sense of the word.

The area where they were eating was a small, open air pavilion. The rest of the Company was already present, gathered at a set of low tables. She didn’t see Elrond or Gandalf and asked Kili about it.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “Apparently all his wizard friends are here as well as some other Elves or something so they’re all off meeting.”

Bilba felt an odd sense of foreboding. “Why would there be multiple wizards and elves visiting?” She hadn’t known there WERE other wizards. As she said it she wondered if that was why Aragorn had been there, as part of some delegation.

“Who cares?” Kili answered. “Unless they plan to help us take on the dragon.”

He led her to a seat directly across from him and Fili and right between Thorin and Dwalin. Thorin gave her a sidelong look, then did a double take.

Bilba stiffened. “Is there something wrong?” She awkwardly smoothed down the dress. “I didn’t bring this with me or anything. It was my mother’s. I though thought I’d wear it for now.”

“It’s fine,” Thorin said gruffly. Across from him Fili snorted and Kili shook his head.

“Oh, ok,” Bilba said, confused. “Thank you. I think?”

Thorin opened his mouth and then closed it again, his eyebrows drawing together as he apparently tried to think of something to say.

Imagine that, Thorin not knowing what to say.

Fili rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. “I hope the letters you received were not bad news.”

“Just some people less than thrilled I ran off without talking to them first,” Bilba said.

Thorin nodded. “It will be good, then, that you will be seeing them soon.”

Bilba didn’t answer. She was going to have to tell him about her decision and already had a feeling he probably wouldn’t take it well.

Bilba forced a smile and turned back to her meal, relieved to see actual vegetables and greens on the plate.

The dwarves were less than impressed and soon began to behave much like they had at her home, complete with one of them, Bofur this time, leaping onto the top of the table to lead them in a raucous song.

The Elves who’d been providing harp music looked alternately horrified and disgusted. A young woman Kili had been eyeing, much to Thorin’s irritation, soon got up and left all together. The rest soon followed, leaving them alone.

This of course was apparently all the permission the dwarves needed to start a food fight. Bombur soon broke the bench he was sitting on but this only served to egg the rest on. Bilba found herself laughing until her sides hurt, the antics of the dwarves exponentially funnier when they weren’t in her home.

Dwalin got up to try and untangle Fili and Kili who’d attacked each other at some point and were at risk of rolling right off the edge of the pavilion in their attempts to pin each other.

Next to her Thorin was actually chuckling. Bilba chewed the inside of her cheek a moment and then decided now was as good a time as any. The fact Thorin was in a good mood didn’t hurt either.

“Could I talk to you? In private?”

He looked at her in surprise and then nodded. “If you wish.”

With that he pushed back from the table and got up, apparently not one to waste time. Bilba felt her gut clench as she got up after him. She caught the eyes of Nori, who was several feet away, and gave him a shaky smile. He nodded back reassuringly. Easy for him, she thought, he didn’t have to go face Thorin.

Thorin headed toward the rooms and Bilba trailed along behind him, hesitating only briefly at the door to the room he and the boys were staying in.

“I can assure you that your virtue is safe with me,” Thorin said dryly.

Bilba’s entire face flushed hot and she imagined she must look an interesting shade of scarlet. She ducked her head and slid past him. He came in behind her and closed the door. The distant sounds of the dwarves and the usual sounds of outdoors vanished leaving dead silence between her and Thorin.

“Well?” Thorin asked. “What was it you wished to say?

Bilba’s gut clenched yet again and she found herself wishing she’d gotten this discussion over before eating. She found herself tangling her hands in the fabric of her skirt, tightening her grip until her knuckles were white.

“We will be leaving in the morning,” Thorin said when she didn’t start speaking. “Elrond has promised to translate the map tonight and Gandalf has suggested we leave as soon as possible afterward.” He hesitated. “This will probably be the last time we see each other, possibly for a long time --”

Bilba, unfortunately had barely heard anything he’d said as she struggled to gather her courage and she never heard what else Thorin might have said as, in a moment of cosmic bad timing, she found her voice.

“I’m going with you.”

Thorin stopped, his face non-comprehending. “What?”

Bilba took a deep breath. “I’m going with you, to Erebor.”

“You are not.”

“I am,” she insisted. “I signed the contract. We agreed.”

“We agreed,” Thorin said carefully as though he were speaking to a child, “that you would go with us to Rivendell and I would make the final decision. I have decided you are not needed.” He frowned. "Besides, I had thought your ultimate intention was to find what happened to your family, as you have done. As I recall you stated you believed the quest to be foolish."

I changed my mind," Bilba said. About going at least, she still thought the quest was insane, handed to Thorin in the foolish belief it would make him abandon the idea all together. Still, she would go nonetheless. She owed it to Thorin even if he didn't want it. Fili and Kili's faces flashed in her mind and she realized a second reason for going. She couldn't stand the thought of them, and the rest of the Company, going on without her while she sat at home with no knowledge of their fate. It would be like the last ten years all over again when she hadn't known her family's fate. Even the thought of not knowing THORIN'S fate hurt. “I said I would prove myself and I did. You KNOW I did.”

"The quest is no place for someone as untrained as you." Thorin stated.

"I'm learning," Bilba argued back. "Fili is teaching me."

"And what if we are attacked again?" Thorin shot back. "Will the few weeks of training you've had save you from an Orc pack?"

"I can handle myself!" Bilba snapped, her anger rising.

"ORI can take care of himself better than you can," Thorin nearly shouted. "If we are endangered I don't want to risk the safety of the entire Company because YOU can't protect yourself!"

"I'll be fine," Bilba said, angry at how lame the response sounded even to her own ears. Thorin was correct as much as she hated to admit it, she had next to no experience. She'd been out of the Shire twice in her entire life, a stark contrast to the dwarves who'd spent much of their lives wandering about in an attempt to find work.

Still, even if her desire was rooted partly in selfishness, she would go.

"You don't have to protect me," she bit out. "I'll watch after myself."

“You. Are. Not. Going.” Thorin said through gritted teeth.

“You. CAN’T. STOP. ME.” Bilba shouted back, angry at how utterly obstinate he was being.

Thorin stiffened, his face darkening like a cloud had settled over it.

"I can leave you behind."

"I'll follow."

“You will obey me in this. We had an agreement.”

“Which I fulfilled!” Bilba said, her anger now fully roused. “And need I remind you that you are not my King? You hold no power over me! If I want to travel to Erebor and challenge a dragon it's MY choice to do so!”

"You will NOT be a member of this Company," Thorin shouted, his own anger nearly matching her own.

"Fine!" Bilba snapped. "I relinquish all claims to my share of the treasure, are you happy now?" She gave a vicious grin, suddenly triumphant. "Now you can't hold me to your stupid agreement. I'm just a traveler who happens to be going to Erebor the same as you!"

Thorin's face was turning a rather interesting shade of purple as he realized he really couldn't stop her from going. He could cut her out of the Company, cut her out of the contract, try to leave her behind in Rivendell, but he couldn't STOP her.

"I am the King," he started to say.

"Of NOTHING," Bilba snapped. How DARE he try to command her? "Erebor hasn’t been reclaimed yet! You are King in name only!”

She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. Thorin’s eyes widened slightly and then his entire face went blank. When he spoke again his voice was flat and edged with fire.

“You have been and would continue to be a distraction. Your presence would endanger my people.”

He said my people, not the Company, not us. Bilba flinched at how easily he set up the delineation, cutting her out and setting her apart with a simple word.

"How would you know?" She snapped. "You won't give me a chance!"

"I don't have to," Thorin shouted. "You don't belong with us in the first place!"

It felt like she'd been punched. Something of it must have shown on her face because she saw Thorin's eyes widen slightly. Tears prickled at the back of Bilba's eyes and she clenched her hands into fists, driving her nails back into the still healing wounds on her palm. The pain grounded her and helped her get her emotions back under control.

Thorin opened his mouth to say something but she didn't let him.

“Fine,” she said her voice bitter. “If you’re so worried about your PEOPLE then why don’t we let them decide?”

She strode forward and came to a stop a few feet from him.

“MOVE.”

He stared down at her and stayed put. "Bilba--"

Bilba snarled something unflattering in Black Speech and swung her arm, palm raised.

Thorin caught her wrist, his grip firm though not painful.

They stood there a long time, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.

Finally Thorin released her and stepped to one side. Bilba stalked past, threw open the door and headed back to the dining pavilion.

The others were still gathered around eating and laughing. They fell silent the moment Bilba stormed in, angry tears tracking down her face, her hands still clenched into fists. She felt a flash of guilt at ruining their mood but it dissipated as Thorin strode in right after her.

Before Thorin could open his mouth and twist things she spoke.

“Who among you believes I have proven myself on this journey?”

She didn’t elaborate though she saw recognition flash in Fili and Kili’s eyes. They were the only ones who’d heard her back in the Shire, aside from Thorin and Gandalf. They’d been there when she’d signed the contract to get Gandalf off Thorin’s back and to hear her proclaim her desire to go to Rivendell and prove herself. It was only later that she’d told them about her parents, a fact which had apparently cemented Thorin’s belief that she planned to go straight back home.

Which…she HAD but that didn’t mean he had the right to assume it, the jerk.

As far as the rest of the Company knew she’d always planned to go all the way with the possibility of finding out her family’s fate just being an incentive.

Behind her Thorin started to speak again and, again, was cut off, this time by the scraping of a chair as Fili stood up.

“I believe you’ve proved yourself.”

Kili stood up next to him. “As do I.”

Nori pushed up from where he’d been leaning against a wall observing. “I agree.”

Ori stood up after that followed by Dori who Bilba suspected simply wanted to take the focus off his brother as quickly as possible to redirect Thorin’s very clear and visible anger.

Bofur got up followed by Bombur and, to her surprise, Bifur.

Oin stood up and nodded at her.

There was no movement for a moment and then Balin sighed and got to his feet. “Aye, lass, you’ve proven yourself well enough.”

That left Dwalin and Gloin, both of whom were studiously ignoring her.

She caught Dwalin’s eye and he gave a huff. “Going up against Trolls with back up is one thing. Going against a dragon by yourself is something else entirely and you’ve still not proven yourself as a burglar which is what we hired you for.”

Beside him Gloin was nodding in agreement but didn’t speak.

Bilba nodded, it didn’t matter anyway. "And who here believes I should be allowed to continue with you to Erebor?"

No one moved.

Bilba turned to face Thorin who’d been standing so close behind her that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. It did something to her insides to have him so close and that annoyed her even more.

“Your PEOPLE,” she hissed at him, “have SPOKEN your MAJESTY.”

Thorin looked at his Company, many of whom looked away when he made eye contact. “Already you divide us,” he stated flatly, his eyes cutting back to Bilba.

Bilba stiffened. “That was not my intent.”

“And yet it is done.” He leaned in, bringing his face to within inches of hers. Bilba forced herself to stand her ground.

When Thorin spoke his voice was little more than a breath of air. “I will not be responsible for your fate.”

Bilba leaned in herself to whisper back, bringing her lips so close to his they very nearly touched.

“No one asked you to be.”

 

*     *   *   *

 

Thorin stood and watched as Bilba stormed away, struggling to get his breathing under control.

“Thorin,” Balin began and stopped at the look he received.

“Do not speak to me,” Thorin said his voice flat. He looked at each of them in turn. “Any of you.”

With that he spun on his heel and stalked back to his room. He attempted to slam the door but apparently the cursed tree shaggers had designed them to be quiet no matter what so even that was denied him.

He grabbed a chair and swung it at the far wall, taking satisfaction in the way it splintered.

Of course that meant he lost the only chair in the room so he settled for sinking down against the wall, bracing one elbow off his knee and resting his face in his hand.

The door opened.

“I thought I said I did not wish to speak,” Thorin growled.

“That’s fine,” his nephew’s voice answered. “I can always just talk.”

Thorin dropped his hand and looked up as Fili sat on the edge of the nearest bed.

“She insists on going all the way to Erebor.”

“I caught that,” Fili said dryly. “You cannot stop her.”

“I am still the leader of this Company,” Thorin growled. “The choice of who goes or stays is my decision.”

Fili gave a slight grin. “That wasn’t what I meant. You can order her to stay but I don’t think you can actually STOP her. Even if we leave her behind I imagine she’d just follow along after us.”

So he'd been told, Thorin thought with annoyance. His mind went back to the pale look on her face at his last comments and some of his anger drained away. He hadn't meant to hurt her.

“She might not if she didn’t think she would have support,” he growled. He punched the wall behind him, near the floor, barely noticing the pain that spiked through him. “As you all so clearly gave her.”

“I answered her question,” Fili said. “Would you rather we all served you blindly with no freedom of thought?”

“Of course not!” Thorin shot, “but what would you have me do? March to Erebor and send her in to confront the dragon while I cower outside?”

Fili studied him. “I’ve never seen you this wound up over anyone.”

Thorin frowned at the sudden change in direction. “It’s my honor on the line,” he muttered. "I have been trained in battle my entire life, she has trained two weeks. I cannot send her in to face a dragon. I would be seen as the greatest coward of our Age."

Fili shrugged. "So we figure something else out and don't send her in. She speaks multiple languages, Uncle, including Sindarin and Black Speech and who knows what else. We could use that and you know it, particularly if we end up waylaid on our way through Mirkwood."

Thorin curled his lip in disgust. The last thing he wanted to do was have to face more Elves, especially not the very ones who'd abandoned Erebor when the dragon attacked.

Fili had a point, as much as it annoyed him to admit. They could use Bilba's skills as an interpreter in the various towns they would pass through and, in particular, her knowledge of Black Speech if Gandalf were correct in the belief they were being hunted. She'd also shown a remarkable ability to identify useful plants, for both food and medicinal purposes and was the only one he'd ever seen who could get Fili and Kili to do something they didn't want to do. He thought of some of the potential allies he'd have to deal with after Erebor was reclaimed. Having someone who'd been on the quest, who had the charisma she had, and an ability to speak the language of the envoys would be a blessing sent straight from Mahal. Of course it meant he'd have to convince her to stay and then --

He blinked, what in the name of MAHAL was he doing??? He didn't want her on the quest at ALL and here he was plotting ways to convince her to stay in Erebor? What was wrong with him?

Fili had been watching the play of emotions across his face and now his eyes grew intense as well as amused. “You have feelings for her.”

Thorin's mind derailed. "What?" Of every possible thing his nephew could have said that was not one he’d considered. He stood up as he spoke pacing to one side and looking out the small window set in the back wall.

“You don't want her to go because you’re worried about her safety,” Fili said behind him, “but, you being you, couldn’t just SAY that and instead had to resort to yelling.”

“I don’t have feelings for her,” Thorin snapped.

“Then you lie to yourself,” Fili said sharply.

Thorin didn’t answer. He thought back to the first time he’d seen Bilba Baggins. She’d thrown open her front door, fire sparking from her eyes, hair shimmering in the candlelight. She had no beard and her form was much too small for a dwarf female but he’d been stunned by her beauty nonetheless.

Then of course he’d had to go and lose control of his lips and she’d slapped him. He’d been angry but, in retrospect, admitted he’d probably had it coming. Insulting one’s host wasn’t exactly the best start to any meeting. Once his anger had faded he’d found himself almost admiring. As small as she was, standing up to a stranger much larger than she was demonstrated she had a backbone of iron.

As he’d gotten to know her he’d seen the pain she carried from losing her own family. He recognized that pain, understood it in a way few others could and, in response, had felt a strong sense of kinship with her. She understood him in a way few could and he felt comfortable speaking to her in a way he'd never felt with anyone else. He always had to be Thorin, King under the Mountain, unable to show the slightest hint of weakness for fear of who might try to use it against him.

With her, he'd just been Thorin.

Realization dawned over him as he listened to his own thoughts. Mahal, was it possible he DID have feelings for her?

He leaned forward, gripping the ledge of the window.

He wasn’t in love with her. Dwarves only had one mate for life, a serious decision which meant he would never be so foolish as to fall in love with someone in a few weeks.

But…the admiration he felt, the annoyance every time she brought up her intended from the Shire, the irritation over her sudden interest in Nori, the literal FEAR he felt at the thought of her going to Erebor…

Mahal have mercy………

Thorin twisted around and found Fili standing directly behind him, arms folded across his chest.

“It would never work,” Thorin said, his voice stunned. “She has someone waiting for her back home.”

Fili shrugged. “Way I hear it there’s nothing serious there, she’s not spoken for.”

Thorin shook his head. “No, it is folly. Mahal, what was I THINKING? I should have guarded myself better!”

“Is it really so outrageous?” Fili asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Of course it is!” Thorin almost shouted. “Now is not the time, we’re on a mission to reclaim Erebor from a dragon. There is no time for anything else!”

“There was no time when you were IN Erebor because you were too busy being trained on how to be a proper Heir.” Fili shouted back. “Then Erebor fell and you were trying to keep everyone alive, then you were trying to establish a new home, then the quest came up. There will ALWAYS be SOMETHING, Uncle.”

Thorin was still shaking his head. “It matters not. Her place is in the Shire while mine is in Erebor.”

“You haven’t even asked her--”

“We’re not even the same species!” Thorin cut in. “Their lifespans are a fraction of ours, did you know that? Have you seen Balin? Do you see the way he suffers without his wife? I do not wish that on anyone, let almost myself.”

“So you’d rather be alone entirely?” Fili asked. He sighed suddenly, his arms dropping to his side. He stepped forward and grabbed Thorin’s shoulders, leaning forward to press his forehead to Thorin’s. “You have never shown the slightest interest in anyone, the fact you show it to her means something. You shouldn't ignore it. I would see you happy, Uncle, even if only for a little while. You have always been content to focus on others. I wish you would focus on yourself, just once.”

Fili backed up slightly to look him in the eye. “I imagine the question, in the end, becomes what is worse. Can you imagine your life being worse for having had her a little while, or never having had her at all?”

Fili released him and stepped back. He gave a nod of respect and then left, shutting the door behind him.

Behind him Thorin sighed and leaned against the wall. Fili’s question ran through his mind.

He honestly didn’t know the answer.

 

*     *   *   *

 

Bilba stormed through Rivendell, trying to find a place where she could be as far as possible from THORIN “I THINK I’M SO WONDERFUL BUT I’M REALLY A BIG JERK” OAKENSHIELD.

She caught sight of a small grotto set away from the rest of the buildings and headed toward it. A short set of steps headed down into it and she paused on the top as she realized the grotto was already inhabited.

Gandalf sat at the far edge on a low bench. He was hunched over, his cloak drawn around his body like he was cold.

He looked…old.

It was an odd thought, Gandalf WAS old. He rarely LOOKED it though, Bilba realized.

The words she’d flung at him back at the Troll’s camp ran through her mind and guilt gnawed at her chasing away her anger at the same time. She walked forward slowly until she stood next to him.

“I take it the news wasn’t good?”

He started and looked at her. “Ah, Bilba. Please, join me.”

He moved over and she sat carefully on the bench beside him. “Kili said there were a bunch of other wizards and elves here and that you were all having some kind of council. From your look I would guess it didn’t go well?”

“Not a bunch of other wizards,” Gandalf mused, “just two.” He sighed, “and, no, it did not go well.”

“What happened?”

He looked down at her and said, “Something I have long feared and far faster than I had expected.”

Bilba gave him an exasperated look. “I think you enjoy speaking in riddles.”

He didn’t answer, focusing on something off in the distance again.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Gandalf asked.

“What I said to you,” Bilba said. “It wasn’t right. You did not cause my mother’s death, or any of the others.”

“Did I not?” Gandalf said softly. “I am the one who introduced her to adventure.”

“But she went because she wanted to,” Bilba said. “If you hadn’t taken her I imagine she’d have ended up going out on her own.” She kicked her feet idly. “From that angle I would guess you probably caused her to live longer than she would have otherwise. You may even have ensured that Bungo and I were born.”

“It is a different way of looking at things,” Gandalf agreed.

“There is enough blame to lay at many doors,” Bilba whispered. It aggravated her to quote the jerk but he had made a good point.

“Thorin should count himself lucky,” Gandalf said suddenly as if somehow magically knowing where she’d gotten the words from. “If not for the council Elrond probably would be more focused on why Thorin is here and why he wants the map translated.”

“You think he’d give him trouble?” Bilba said in surprise.

“There are few who wish to risk the ire of the dragon if it still lives,” Gandalf responded. “But, as I said, it is fortunate for Thorin that there are greater concerns to focus on.”

Greater concerns than a dragon? Bilba didn’t want to know what they were and had a feeling he wouldn’t answer her even if she asked.

“We’re leaving in the morning. Will you be going with us?”

“No,” he said finally. “I will not.”

Bilba nodded. “I didn’t think so.” A stiff breeze blew through and wrapped around her. Bilba stood up, wrapping her arms around her. “I better get back before Thorin decides to leave early just to get rid of me.”

Now the wizard looked amused. “Not pleased to find out your plans was he?”

“No,” Bilba said. “I may have ended up swearing at him in Black Speech.”

She would be the first to admit the language was dark but it also had the most impressive curses she’d ever heard making it her go to language when she felt the need to insult.

Gandalf chuckled. "He will come around, given time."

The wizard had more optimism than she did, Bilba thought. Some of the words she'd flung at Thorin went through her mind and she felt a stab of guilt and shame. She was as bad as Thorin was, opening her mouth and failing to control the words flowing from it. No sooner did she apologize for one such incident then she found another needing an apology.

Though, in this case, she had a doubt Thorin would ever speak to her again to LET her apologize.

The thought made her sad.

Bilba stepped away. “When will you rejoin us?”

A heaviness seemed to settle on the wizard.

“I do not know.”

"Ok," Bilba said. "In that case I'll look forward to your return, whenever it may be."

She turned and headed out, stopping at the top of the steps to gaze back at the wizard. He sat in the same position as she'd found him, still gazing off in the distance.

A sense of foreboding settled over her again and, though she didn't know why, she was convinced it would be a very long time before she saw the wizard again.

She frowned and wrapped her arms around her chest as she headed back to her room. The entire way there she could not shake the sense that something momentous had taken place and she’d managed to miss it entirely.


	22. Chapter 22

Bilba returned to her room to find her clothing mended, cleaned and spread out on her bed. She changed quickly from the dress back to her trousers, shirt and overcoat and then packed everything carefully.

After that she slung the pack over her shoulders and picked up the letters along with her parent’s rings and the doll. She let herself out of the room carefully and stood uncertainly on the pathway, trying to think of the best course of action.

An idea occurred to her and she headed back in the direction of the small underground room. The odds were slim Aragorn would even still be there, and slimmer still he’d be able to help, but she couldn’t think of anything else at the moment.

She found the room easily enough and, upon entering, was delighted to see Aragorn was indeed still there reading.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Bilba said, approaching and stopping a few feet away, “but I wondered if you know where Elrond or one of his sons might be?”

“I’m afraid they’re probably all in a council meeting right now,” he said, putting the book down, “perhaps I could help you in their stead?”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Bilba said. She held up the letters awkwardly. “I had some letters waiting for me when I arrived. I wrote some responses and hoped to find a way to get them sent to the Shire before I left.”

Aragorn stood up. “In that case, you’re in luck. I happen to be heading toward the Shire in a few days.”

“Really?” Bilba said in surprise.

“I’m a Ranger,” Aragorn explained. “I’m usually near the Shire or Bree. I was raised in Rivendell, however, so I visit from time to time.” He smiled. “In fact I happen to be the one to transport your letters in the first place. I would be happy to make sure the responses are properly delivered.”

“Oh,” Bilba said, while mentally smacking herself for not putting two and two together. “Thank you! For bringing the letters and for the offer!”

“You’re quite welcome,” Aragorn said. He held a hand out. “If you give me the responses I’ll see to it they’re delivered.”

Bilba nodded and handed over the letters. That left her with her parent’s rings and the doll. She hesitated, clinging to them.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and Bilba pulled them to her chest.

“These,” she started and then stopped to take a breath before plunging ahead. “These belonged to my parents and my brother. I just got them back and I wanted to send them to my grandfather…the Thain…” She trailed off, would he think poorly of her that she was sending the items away? “It’s just that – it’s not going to be safe all the time and ---you know, what if I lose them or--”

She trailed off, her hands still clutching the rings and doll tight to her chest.

Aragorn stood over her, a look of compassion in his eyes. He shifted slightly and then knelt on one knee in front of her, his hands coming to cover hers.

“I give you my word,” he said calmly, his eyes locking onto hers, “I will see them to your grandfather. They will not come to harm.”

Bilba felt herself relax at the sincerity in his words. He’d already seen her letters safely to Rivendell and was clearly a friend to the Elves or he would not be so readily allowed in. Not to mention he was one of the Rangers, Men who’d long chosen to protect the Shire for no pay and little gratitude.

She released them, a feeling of loss rushing over her as they left her hands. She half wanted to take them back but knew it was a bad idea. The quest would be long and dangerous and that was before the dragon at the end. She’d never forgive herself if any harm came to the rings or Bungo’s doll, especially after she’d just gotten them back.

Aragorn stood up. “Are you leaving immediately?” He indicated the pack on her back.

“Pretty soon,” Bilba said. If she told him the truth she’d have to explain the whole thing and then she’d probably get a lecture on how dangerous it would be and how Thorin was a fool, which she already knew, and so on and so forth.

“In the event I don’t see you before you go I’ll bid you farewell then,” Aaragorn said. “Until we meet again.”

Bilba nodded. “I hope so. I’ll have to invite you to lunch at Bag End.”

He smiled. “I look forward to it.”

He retrieved his book and took his leave of her. As he left Bilba noticed the shadows from the door way were deepening. Night had almost fallen. The only light left in the small room came from torches, primarily the ones illuminating the statue and the painting.

The dim, flickering light gave an otherworldly glow to the painting that wasn’t present in the day when natural light spilled down through the door. The pattern of light and shadow now made the depiction of Sauron seem to twist and move on its own, as if the Dark Lord struggled to free himself from the artwork and enter the world once more.

Bilba shivered, wrapped her arms around her torso, and fled as fast as possible, the small room no longer welcome and inviting.

She walked past her room, then the one where the Jerk and the Pretty Twins were staying and finally stopped at the one next to it.

Nori opened the door a moment later, one eyebrow raised. “There you are. Fili and Kili have been looking for you.”

Bilba didn’t answer. She shoved past him into the room and dropped her pack into the corner.

“Should I even ask?” Nori said dryly, shutting the door. He gave her that wicked grin. “Not that I mind you staying in my room of course.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “I don’t trust Thorin not to try and leave me while I’m sleeping. You’re the only one I think would defy him and make sure I woke up.”

She’d threatened to follow after Thorin if he did leave her but, to be honest, she wasn’t sure she had the courage. She had no idea of what direction to go and the thought of wandering through the wild alone did not appeal to her.

Not that she’d let Thorin know that of course.

Nori leaned against the door casually. “And why do you assume I’d be the one to defy the King?” He studied her a moment. “And aren’t you the one always going on about propriety? Staying in my room isn’t exactly ‘proper’.”

“Because you like annoying him,” Bilba said sharply. She sat on the small chair in the room. “I refuse to be left behind and, besides, it’s not like anyone from the Shire is here to judge me and I highly doubt any of the others care where I sleep.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Nori muttered under his breath.

“And,” Bilba continued, “if you try anything inappropriate I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”

“Ouch,” Nori said, “and I suppose you’d tell your two champions as well and let them at me.”

Now it was Bilba’s turn to have a wicked grin. “Worse.”

“Really?” said Nori. “And what exactly would be worse than telling our two overprotective Princes?”

Bilba grinned. “I’ll tell ORI. Just think of how disappointed he’d be.”

Nori’s eyes widened and then narrowed in admiration. “I think you’d have the workings of an amazing spy my Lady.”

“Maybe,” Bilba said. She shifted in the chair, finding a comfortable position, and said, “want to practice your Black Speech?”

Nori’s eyes lit up. “Of course!” He shifted suddenly and a strange expression flitted across his face. “Wait here a moment.”

He strode to the door and vanished through it. Bilba raised an eyebrow but settled herself back in the chair to wait for him to return.

Nori was back only a few minutes later, Ori trailing along behind him and understanding dawned.

“Ori!” Bilba said, genuinely happy to see the shy scribe. “I’m glad you could join us.”

He smiled back and moved to sit on the edge of the bed near her. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was worried after--” He trailed off and made a few gestures with his hands.

Bilba felt her mood dissipate slightly at the reminder of her fight with Thorin but she didn’t let it show on her face. “It’s fine. Thank you for standing up for me, it took a lot of courage.”

He flushed and ducked his head.

There was more movement at the door and Dori strode in. He shot a look at Nori and then came to sit beside Ori.

Ori sighed. “He thinks he has to babysit me.”

“I’m making sure your brother doesn’t corrupt you with his stories of crime,” Dori said in annoyance. “Not to mention ensuring Bilba’s reputation. It wouldn’t do at all for her to be in Nori’s room alone.”

“It’s fine,” Bilba said. “I already told him I’d castrate him if he tried anything.”

Ori laughed and then nearly choked to death trying to cut it off. Dori didn’t bother hiding his own laughter.

Nori just rolled his eyes and jumped up on the small table near the chair, settling back against it. “Just so you know, Bilba speaks Khuzdul so I’ll be helping her with it, it’s a tradeoff.”

This time it was Bilba, Ori and Dori who all choked with varying levels of shock. Finally Bilba was able to compose herself enough to explain her mother had taught her though, with the way Dori was glaring at Nori, it seemed he thought Nori had somehow traveled to the Shire, taught Belladonna and then left again.

Actually, now that she thought about it, Bilba could see something like that happening.

Dori and Ori soon recovered from their shock at her knowing Khuzdul, though Dori commented he was really no longer surprised by ANYTHING it turned out she could do.

They spent the next several hours working on both Black Speech and Khuzdul. Dori proved to be just as interested as Ori was and all three of the Ri brothers demonstrated an amazing proclivity for picking up languages.

It grew later and later but Bilba was determined to stay up the entire night. She was pretty sure the three wouldn’t leave her behind but, in the end, they were dwarves and Thorin was the dwarven king so she couldn’t be entirely sure whose side they would come down on if Thorin commanded them to leave her.

In spite of her best efforts, however, Bilba could feel exhaustion encroaching. Her limbs slowly grew heavy and a chill crept over her as her body tried to convince her to go to sleep. Her mind grew fuzzy and entered that odd period in between being awake and being asleep. She imagined Thorin standing behind Nori, glaring at her, and proceeded to yell at him in Black Speech…or maybe Khuzdul…possibly Sindarin...Common…or Hobbitish…or possibly a bizarre combination of all five.

Eventually her mind gave up entirely and plunged her into unconsciousness.

It was not a quiet sleep. In her dreams Bilba found herself standing in a large dark space. Images flashed and jumped before her, moving too fast for her to comprehend. A cacophony of voices cried out at her but she couldn’t make out what they were saying other than the tone was panicked.

A loud scream ripped through the area causing her to jump. Another one tore through and now she recognized it. Fili, his voice so full of pain it tore at her heart. She tried to find him but the screams seemed to come from every direction at once.

The voices shouting at her grew louder, the noise ramping up to a level so acute it was nearly painful. Bilba put her hands over her ears and knelt, trying to drown them out. The voice grew louder still, almost a physical presence bearing down on her. She screamed, sure the noise would crush her.

It stopped.

All of it, the screaming and the voices, all gave way to silence.

Bibla uncovered her ears slowly. She raised her head and found herself at the end of a long hallway. Faint, so faint she could barely hear it, the sound of someone sobbing floated through. The sound reminded her of her mother and she carefully pushed to her feet to try and find her. She tried to open the doors but each was locked so she gave up and ran, trying to track the crying. It grew steadily louder until, finally, she rounded a corner and found herself in front of a door at the end of the hall.

The sobbing came from behind it. Bilba grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open. Beyond she saw a darkened room. The only light illuminated a low bed upon which two shadowy figures lay. At the foot of the bed, collapsed over the covers, sobbing wretchedly was Thorin. He had his head down on the bed and both hands clutched at the covers as his shoulders shook from the force of his despair. Bilba called out to him but he didn’t respond so she walked forward trying to see what was on the bed. As she neared the shadowy forms grew clearer and solidified until their identities were unmistakable.

Fili and Kili, their bodies still, blood covering their clothes. She raised her gaze to their faces and saw their eyes open and fixed, staring lifelessly overhead.

Bilba screamed, trying to reach out and shake them, anything to wake them up. A wall of black snapped up in front of her before her fingers could touch them, drowning out her voice as she screamed again.

She threw her hands up over her head and shut her eyes. A violent wind whipped around her and a horribly loud roaring noised filled her ears. She risked a glimpse and realized she stood in the midst of a maelstrom, a swirling vortex of darkness whipping by inches from her face. Bilba let out a moan of terror and squeezed her eyes shut again.

A moment later the wind died down.

She kept her eyes shut for long moments before finally risking opening them again.

She wished she hadn’t.

She stood alone in darkness, it stretched in every direction…every direction but one.

Just in front of her, so close she could touch it stood a massive ring of fire. In the very center was a crescent of black. It almost reminded her of an eye.

A piercing light suddenly illuminated her, searing and hot as though burning right through her.

 _Beware_ , a voice thundered. Bilba looked to try and find who spoke but saw nothing.

She looked back and the eye was on top of her, the heat from it scorching through her skin like paper.

_I see you._

She screamed and this time didn’t stop.

“Bilba!”

Arms were grabbing her and Bilba lashed out. She felt her hand connect with something and heard a grunt of pain.

“Bilba! It’s me! Wake up!”

Her eyes snapped open and found Fili, his eyes wide and worried, and ALIVE, only a few inches away. Bilba lunged up and threw her arms around him. She could feel the thrum of his pulse and buried her face in his neck, listening to the beat of his heart.

Knowing where one went the other followed she glanced up to see Kili less than a foot away. She put a hand out and, when he stepped forward, dragged him in and shifted to be able to hug both of them at the same time.

They both hugged her back without reservation. After a few minutes, Fili pulled back to look at her.

“Are you all right? You were screaming so loudly we heard you next door. Dori said couldn’t he couldn’t wake you.”

For the first time Bilba noticed she was in a bed and not the chair she’d last been sitting in. She looked to the side and saw blankets and pillows spread around the floor. Ori still sat on one, staring at her with worry in his eyes. Dori stood a few feet away from him, Nori just behind him and, farther back, leaning against the doorframe, was Thorin.

Bilba felt her face flush and carefully disentangled herself from the Pretty Twins. Way to prove to Thorin she could take care of herself and wouldn’t be a distraction.

“Sorry,” she whispered, scrubbing a hand across her face. “It was just a nightmare.”

“I suppose we should have expected that,” Dori said, “after what you remembered going through.”

Bilba didn’t correct him. Let him think the nightmare had been about the Trolls.

“I wonder, Burglar,” Thorin’s voice came from the door, “why you were in Nori’s room.”

Bilba gave him a look of disgust. “I was ensuring you didn’t try to abandon me while I slept. And in case you failed to notice Nori, Ori AND Dori all slept here.”

She felt a surge of gratitude toward Nori for bringing his brothers in and to Dori for thinking of her reputation when she hadn’t been. At the time she’d still been so angry at Thorin, and so intent on the notion of him not leaving her behind, she’d ignored how damaging it would be to her reputation to spend the night in Nori’s room. With his brothers both there, especially Dori, there was no way Thorin could question her.

Thorin studied her then glanced idly at the bedding on the floor. He muttered something under his breath and said, “We leave immediately.”

With that he turned and stalked away. Bilba sighed and watched him go. “This is going to be a long trip.”

“He’ll get over it,” Fili said. “He’s actually worried about you but is just too stubborn to admit it.”

Bilba shook her head; she doubted Thorin worried in the slightest about her.

She slid out of bed and gathered her pack, hefting it up onto her shoulders once more.

When she turned to face the room she saw Fili, Kili and the Ri brothers all studying her.

“What?” She asked.

“Bilba,” Fili said slowly, “I have no problem with you joining us but I do want you to understand. Where we’re going is nothing at all like what we’ve done so far. It’ll be a thousand times worse and a thousand times more dangerous.” His eyes narrowed, studying her. “No one will think poorly of you for not going on. You’ve never been very far from home, never had to rough it like we have. It’s not a mark against you but it is a fear that you truly don’t understand what you’re about to face.”

“Once we leave that’s it,” Kili said, his own voice serious. “We can’t turn back if you change your mind.”

Bilba’s mind went back to the dream and the memory of the two boys laid out dead on a bed. She didn’t want that fate for them and couldn’t handle the thought of going back to the Shire to wait for news. She wanted to pay Thorin back for what he’d done for her but, even beyond that, she wanted to protect the people she was slowly beginning to see as a second family.

She stood up straighter and lifted her head. “I understand and I want to go.” She grinned at them, “just you wait. I may end up surprising you.”

Nori laughed. “Oh, you’ve already more than done that, my Lady.”

Fili snorted, also looking amused. “In that case allow me to welcome you to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, officially.”


	23. Chapter 23

Fili and Kili hadn’t been exaggerating when they said the journey from that point on would be harder.

The ponies were left at Rivendell as Thorin stated they couldn’t pass over the mountain and he didn’t want to release them in the wilderness to try and find their way back.

That meant they had to carry their own packs and the supplies. Where the journey to Rivendell had been over reasonably even ground, or at least what she’d noticed from the comfort of her pony, the ground now seemed determined to be as rocky, unlevel, and uphill as much as possible. By the end of the first day her body was screaming at her and she collapsed to the ground at the camp with a groan, only to immediately have to get up again as Thorin began barking orders to the Company about setting up camp.

Thorin only spoke to her to give her a task or telling her what shift she would be taking on watch. She hadn’t done watch before leaving Rivendell but Thorin seemed intent on not only giving them to her but on giving her the worst hours too.

In a way being on watch helped because the nightmares didn’t stop after leaving Rivendell. She didn’t have them every day, or even every week but they were there. Sometimes they were about her family, sometimes about other things, Fili and Kili dead on the ground, sometimes Thorin with them. And over all a wheel of fire she could not seem to escape.

On those nights she generally had to be woken by one of the others. Surprisingly, Thorin never commented on her nightmares, even though her screaming probably alerted every living creature nearby and gave him clear evidence that her presence endangered the Company.

The nightmares lessened eventually, the farther they got from Rivendell but, by the time they did, Bilba had learned to love watch for the excuse it gave her to not sleep. Additionally, Thorin never let her work a shift alone and paired her up with a different member of the Company every night. Bilba took the opportunity to get to know each member better, sharing stories and discussing the journey to come.

Her favorites were watches spent with one of the Ri brothers, sharing lessons on Black Speech and Khuzdul, or with Fili and Kili.

On the first night she was paired with Dwalin he gruffly apologized for not standing up for her at Rivendell but reiterated his belief she was not prepared for the wilderness. Bilba retorted that if he didn’t think she was prepared he should teach her.

She had forgot about the words by the next morning but was reminded quite sharply that evening when she went to train with Fili and discovered Dwalin waiting for her as well.

After that both of them would train her and Bilba realized immediately Fili had been going easy on her before that point. At some point both got together and made the decision that she would work well with two blades, that or Fili just thought she would look good that way, she wasn’t quite sure. Regardless she soon found herself wielding her sword in one hand and a short, thick blade from Fili in the other. The two showed her how to use the shorter sword to block and parry blows while coming in with the long sword to stab the attacker.

They also began having training drills where both attacked her simultaneously, after Dwalin pointed out it was unlikely she would only ever be attacked by one individual and it was equally unlikely her foes would politely line themselves up and wait their turn.

Eventually Kili decided to get involved, citing it never hurt to be proficient on multiple weapons, and Bilba soon found herself practicing archery as well. To her surprise she proved quiet adept at it and also found she enjoyed it far more than the other lessons, not that she’d ever admit it. Kili would never let his brother live it down if she did.

And so it went, day after day. Bilba found herself slowly growing stronger, the few extra pounds of fat she hadn’t been aware she had stripping away to lean muscle, the exhaustion she felt at the end of the day decreasing steadily.

She wasn’t an expert by any means but she began to use the weapons as extensions of her body as they wanted and slowly started not only to remember how to use everything they were telling her but also to put them together properly, the moves coming quickly as the other two came at her during drills. Fili was quick to praise her. Dwalin didn’t give praise easily but he nodded in approval when she did well and Bilba would find herself beaming with pride.

The Misty Mountains always loomed in front of them but it took over a month to reach the High Pass they were to take. During that time Thorin continued to barely speak to her but, every time she looked at him, he seemed to be watching her.

It took her almost the entire month to realize the reason she knew he was always watching her was that she was always watching him.

The epiphany came the night before they planned to take the pass. The weather had been growing steadily worse and Thorin had stopped them for the night in the hopes it would clear and give them a chance to get over. Personally she felt he was indulging in a fool’s hope but didn’t begrudge the chance to get to rest. The pass, from what she could see, looked to be little more than a narrow ledge of rock that traveled up steeply through the Mountains. Fili had mentioned two other passes but this one, as treacherous as it looked, was apparently the safest.

The weather had grown steadily colder as they’d traveled into the mountains and to the pass and Bilba currently lay huddled against the rocks with her coat wrapped around her. It was late and she should be asleep but the cold ate at her bones so badly that sleep eluded her. She was also nervous about the trip over the mountain the next day. It was foolish but there was something about being able to look back in the direction of the Shire and imagine she could see it that made her feel safe. After she crossed the mountains, every time she looked back all she would see was a solid wall of rock behind her, blocking her off from her home.

Her eyes went across to the other side of the fire. Thorin was on watch, alone as always. He sat on a rock at the very edges of the fire, turned to one side to gaze out into the night. His coat was lying on the ground next to him and she felt a flash of annoyance that he didn’t apparently feel the cold like she did. In fact it was possible none of the dwarves did as even Fili and Kili had their coats off and lying next to them.

The firelight lit up one side of Thorin’s body while the other side stayed in darkness. Her mind went to her nightmares and she shuddered slightly. Over the last month much of her anger toward him had faded and, as much as she hated to admit it, she could see his point of view. He had to protect his Company and, with her inexperience, she was the weakest link so to speak.

Even if she had still been angry, however, she never wanted to see Thorin crying. He was so strong, like the rock dwarves had been carved from and she couldn’t imagine what would bring someone like him to tears.

Her eyes went to the silent forms of Fili and Kili and she retracted that thought. She already had imagined it.

It had been close to two months since they had crashed into her home and already she couldn’t imagine how she’d lived her life so long without them.

Particularly the Durins. Fili was like the older brother she’d always wanted, protective and intelligent, deserving of the hero worship Kili lavished on him and that she found herself offering as well.

Then there was Kili. He was like the younger brother she’d always thought Bungo would have grown up to be. Carefree and happy, always there to cheer her up when she was down, confident in the knowledge that his brother would always be there to pull him out of whatever mess he got himself into.

And Thorin. Even as obnoxious as he could sometimes be he loved his nephews, was unwavering in his loyalty to his people and led from the front of the group instead of giving orders from the back.

She loved them all.

The thought gave her pause. It was the first time she’d really attached the word love to her feelings towards them. Hobbits were known to make quick decisions in love; they gave it fast and deep but not unwisely or blindly.

Did she, indeed, love them? Her eyes went to each member of the Company, going over her interactions and noting that she felt varying levels of affection for all of them, depending on the current depth of her relationship with each one.

For Fili and Kili, however, the feelings went far deeper, closer to the love she felt for Seth and Priscilla and the love she’d felt for her parents and Bungo.

As for Thorin? She studied him where he sat. He was stubborn and aggravating and insisted on speaking without thinking. Of course, she conceded, the same could be said about her so she probably couldn’t hold that against him. He also understood the pain of her losing her family better than anyone else and the memory of several of the conversations they’d had, before his latest bout of being a jerk, showed he did possess compassion.

She felt safe with him around. He claimed not to be responsible for her fate and that she didn’t belong but he’d included her nonetheless. He hadn’t been particularly vocal with her and had put her on the worst shifts for watch but he hadn’t been cruel. He hadn’t tried to prevent her from speaking to the others or forced her to walk a distance from the Company, both things he could have done.

The flickering light from the fire was doing interesting things to his hair and the profile of his jaw, it was quite distracting. It was really unfair how attractive he was, Bilba thought. He was better looking than Fili or Kili, and might even be stronger, and he was kind, and commanding, with a deep voice that captivated her even when he was giving orders for someone to dig the new latrine, and he was loyal, and understanding, sometimes; and…and…………………………….

And she was thinking of him exactly as she’d used to think of Fram.

Her mind stumbled to a stop and went blank with shock.

She was thinking of him exactly as she’d used to think of Fram.

Of FRAM.

Fram who she was in LOVE with.

In LOVE.

Not just love, IN love. As in not affection, not love you like a brother, L-O-V-E.

With……………………Thorin…………………………………………….

……………………………………………………………

THORIN OAKENSHIELD.

……………………could it be true?……………………………….

…Eru, if it was she had HORRIBLE taste…………………………………

……Why couldn’t it be Fili?……………….

………Or Kili?………

…Why THORIN?………

…..

…Truly?

THORIN?..

.

.

.

.

.

.

Eru, could it be true?

Bilba drew her legs up and dropped her head on them, wrapping her arms around her knees.

She thought back over every interaction she’d ever had with him.

Back in the Shire she used to seek Fram out and watch him from a distance, just as she’d been watching Thorin now she thought.

He was always staring at her, probably making sure she didn’t get eaten by a Warg just to annoy him, but it was only now that she realized in order to know that it meant SHE had been watching HIM.

She thought of the jittery feeling she got when he spoke to her, her nerves every time she was in his presence. She’d written it up to the fact he was a King but Fili and Kili were Princes and she’d never had the same problems talking to them.

She thought of the few arguments they’d had and how her anger had drained quickly to be replaced by sympathy and guilt over the sharp words she’d thrown back at him.

Eru, how could she have been so BLIND?

And so STUPID?

He was a KING for Illuvatar’s sake! Not to mention they weren’t even the same SPECIES! Then there were other factors, like the fact that dwarves lived for 500 years and her life would be over before he was even fully out of young adulthood, or the fact they were currently on a quest to confront a DRAGON and it really wasn’t the best time to be in love with the leader of the Company.

Who happened to be a King.

And on a level so much higher than her she’d have to climb a ladder just to be considered beneath him.

Thorin would no doubt laugh at the notion that a frumpy, average looking, unusual Hobbit with not a single redeemable quality or talent to her name was in love with him.

She gave a low groan. Why couldn’t she have remained oblivious to her own stupidity? Now she’d PINE after him, much like she’d done with Fram and wasn’t THAT realization humiliating.

She hadn’t had time, or reason, to go over her interactions with Fram until now but, as she continued to compare them to her interactions with Thorin, she found herself seeing them in a new light.

She’d thought she was coy and mysterious but, now, looking at it with the wisdom of time and hindsight, she saw it all in a different light.

She hadn’t been coy and mysterious with Fram, she’d been pathetic. The second he mentioned liking adventure she’d rushed off to Bree. She’d overhear him in the marketplace talking about a new hairstyle or outfit he liked on a young woman and she’d rush off to dress just like them.

She banged her head on her knees and then slumped with a sigh. It was a wonder he even talked to her with how obviously she’d been throwing herself at him.

Her mind went to the memory of Poppy and her friends and how they’d thrown themselves all over Kili. She’d laughed at them but, in reality, she’d been little better.

Someone settled down next to her and a coat was suddenly draped over her shoulders.

“Are you all right?” A deep baritone inquired and Bilba decided right then and there that the Valar positively HATED her.

She sighed and lifted her head to gaze at Thorin. “You ever do something and it seems completely intelligent and right when you do it but, then, you look back on it years later and realize how stupid it was? To the point you start to wish you could go back in time and smack your younger self in the face and ask what they were thinking?”

Granted, it was just two months but, given what she’d gone through and remembered, it felt like a lifetime.

Thorin nodded. “I imagine we’ve all felt that way a time or two. Any time in particular you’d like to return too?”

She sighed. “I just realized my attempts to show my affection back in the Shire probably came across as desperate and I may have ended up looking like a fool.”

She most certainly did NOT tell him the realization had come as she’d compared her feelings toward Fram to her feelings toward Thorin in an attempt to find out if they were similar.

If anything the feelings she felt toward Thorin were a thousand times stronger, to the point she now wondered if she’d ever truly been in love with Fram at all or had just fancied that she was.

She stifled another groan at her own foolishness.

“Ah,” he looked back out over the fire. “You would not be the first to make a fool of yourself over someone you were in love with. I think it may be a rite of passage for the young of every race.”

Bilba snorted. “I’m not THAT young. I should have known better.”

Thorin shrugged. “You’re young enough.”

Bilba withered, her shoulders tensing. Here she was in love with him and he thought her no more than a child. Apparently her days of making a fool of herself were far from over.

“So,” she said carefully hoping to change the topic from love and foolish mistakes, “you’re talking to me now?”

He looked at her in surprise. “I was never not speaking to you. You were the one not speaking to me.”

She stared at him and then gave another low groan and smacked her head lightly on her knees. “Are you saying I thought you weren’t talking to me and you thought I wasn’t talking to you, which means neither of us has been spoken to each other all this time…over a misunderstanding?” She frowned in suspicion. “But you never assigned me to be on watch with you, wasn’t that because you were angry?”

He shifted slightly. “I felt you were angry and wished to spare you having to be in my company.”

Bilba stared at him, her mouth gaping slightly. “We’re both idiots,” she said finally, shaking her head. “Honestly, it’s a wonder either of us has any friends.”

A small grin tugged at Thorin’s lips. “I have been told this before, many times.”

“I haven’t,” Bilba muttered, “though, in retrospect, it’s probably because I HAVE no friends back home and, oh look, I think I just figured out why.”

“You have your intended,” Thorin said carefully, not looking at her.

“Hardly,” Bilba said, “seeing as how we never actually acknowledged anything and I kind of wrote him a letter telling him to marry someone else.”

Thorin went still next to her. “Indeed?”

Bilba nodded. “I have no idea when, or even if, I’ll return. It isn’t fair to expect him to wait.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bilba shrugged. Truth be told she hadn’t felt near the amount of sorrow she’d expected from the action. It reinforced the idea that perhaps she hadn’t been in love with Fram as much as she’d thought.

She felt a tiny spark of hope. If she HAD been mistaken about Fram maybe it meant she also wasn’t as in love with Thorin either? She risked a look at him and felt her heart speed up and her breathing grow short in a way it had never done with Fram. She sighed, she wasn’t mistaken in her feelings for him.

She was so doomed.

Thorin reached inside his shirt and withdrew his pipe. She watched as he filled it and lit it, settling back against the rocks to begin puffing on it.

“I’m sorry,” Bilba said, pulling his coat tighter around her. It would have helped more if it had sleeves she thought petulantly but kept hold of it. “For what I said back in Rivendell, about you not being a King of anything.” She looked down toward her feet, which were also cold though not so bad as the rest of her. “It wasn’t true. You’re a King, you have people who follow you and that’s better than any cold rock or stone, though soon you’ll have that too I’m sure.”

Thorin had quieted during her comments, gazing out at the campfire and contentedly puffing away on his pipe.

Bilba shifted again, trying to burrow deeper into the coat. Beside her Thorin clamped the pipe between his teeth and sat up.

“Let me see that.”

He gestured at the coat and Bilba struggled to hold back a growl at his desire to take it from her. It was his coat in the end, however, so she relinquished it, grimacing as the cold air bit back at her again.

“Come on.” He stood up and held a hand down toward her. Bilba blinked up at him but reached her hand out and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Thorin led her over to nearer the fire. Dwalin was sprawled out, blocking most of the space along one side. Thorin gave him a swift kick in the shin and Dwalin woke up groggily, muttered under his breath and then inched himself over, farther away from the fire and turned his back to it.

Bilba wondered vaguely how often Thorin must kick him for Dwalin to know what he wanted and also how insane Thorin must be to kick Dwalin of all people.

Thorin flipped his coat upside down, putting the sleeveless part near the bottom and the solid fabric that usually swept majestically down his back and to the ground near the top. He wrapped it around her shoulders and then pushed her down to sit against Dwalin’s back, right near the fire.

Almost immediately warmth began to spread through her, from the fire, the coat and even heat leeching from Dwalin behind her.

Thorin stepped a few feet away and sat back on the rock he’d been sitting on earlier.

“Better now?”

Bilba sighed and relaxed. “You have no idea.”

“I may have a better idea than you think,” Thorin said. “I should have taken into account the Shire’s climate, not to mention your lack of armor.”

He studied the fire a few minutes, so intent that Bilba wondered what it was he saw. “I suppose,” he said after a moment, speaking around his pipe, “I am the last to hold onto words spoken to me in anger.” He gave a slight smile that made her cursed, traitorous heart melt. “It has been mentioned I may be guilty of the same.” He looked at her and finally pulled the pipe out of his mouth. “I am sorry also for the things I said to you. They were spoken in anger and did not reflect my true thoughts.”

That was something at least. She relaxed further, leaning her head back to relax against Dwalin’s side.

“I wonder where Gandalf ran off too,” she murmured, watching the sparks from the fire fly up into the night sky.

“As do I,” Thorin responded, “but I doubt we’ll find out until he’s good and ready to tell us.”

Bilba gave a quiet hum of agreement. She yawned and then said, “Did I ever tell you about the time my little brother and I got lost in the woods around Buckland?”

“No,” Thorin said, “I don’t believe you have.”

Bilba shifted, getting herself more comfortable. “Well, it started when I decided there were Elves living in the forest and we needed to go find them. So one day--”

Later, Bilba would look back and wish she’d paid closer attention to the night, to the stories she shared with Thorin and the ones he shared in return.

At the time, however, she was simply warm and happy and content, for the most part considering she was hopelessly in love with someone who would never love her back.

The world, as she’d learned though, would never be perfect so she would take what happiness and peace she could when she found it.

If only she’d known then what she came to know later.

That that night would be the last night of true peace she would have for a long time.

But, then, as Thorin had once told her the view behind was always clearer than the one ahead.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Note About This Chapter: Please note the tags for this story (particularly the Happy Ending one) and also the Archive Warnings (specifically the LACK of any). :) :)

The weather did not improve.

By the next morning a light rain had begun to fall. 

As Bilba had feared the pass over the mountain was a narrow ledge with sheer, jagged rock on one side and a drop on the other. The drop off was short at first but as they climbed higher it grew deeper until the ground was so far below them the trees looked like small sticks poking out of the ground. 

The Company was forced to walk single file on the ledge. As the day progressed the rain increased and the rock grew slippery and even more treacherous. No one spoke as they were each forced to focus on their footing. 

Thorin had planned to cross the pass in one day, starting that morning and getting down by evening. The rain made it impossible, slowing them so much that, by evening they were barely at the height of the Pass. The rain had soaked them through and they were all shivering from the cold. Bilba’s body shook so hard she was pretty sure her bones would eventually give up and just snap. Thunder and lightning had started by then and, judging by the frequency, it didn’t look like the storm would stop anytime soon. She stumbled and felt Dwalin grab her, steadying her for a moment until she got her footing again. 

In the gathering dark Bilba felt a flash of fear with each footstep, terrified she’d place her foot into a shadow only to find no rock. Thorin led, as usual, with Dwalin right behind. Bilba was behind him, holding on to the back of his coat to steady herself. The Ri brothers were behind her followed by Fili and Kili and the rest. 

From behind Fili suddenly yelled out a warning. Bilba turned to see him looking up. She followed his gaze and saw, to her horror, a giant boulder hurtling straight toward them. Her mind was so busy trying to comprehend what a giant rock was doing flying through the air she forgot to duck.

It was Dwalin who grabbed her and forced her down just as the rock shattered against the mountain just over her head. The impact vibrated through her and then giant shards were falling past her face. She cowered, pressing against the mountain. 

Balin yelled something from farther back in the line and she risked a look, relieved to see everyone appeared to be accounted for and unharmed. 

She peered out into the rain, trying to see what had caused the rock to go flying. Her eyes registered movement and she looked just in time to see a giant rock peel itself right out of the mountain several hundred yards away. 

What?

As she watched it rose straight up and now she could see what appeared to be arms and feet and a craggy part on top that might be a head if you squinted. 

“Giants!” Bofur shouted, “stone giants!”

Bilba wanted to thank him for pointing out the obvious but was too busy watching the stone…giant…or whatever it was rip a giant boulder right out of the side of a mountain.

It then turned and threw it straight at them. 

Bilba screamed, ducking and throwing her arms over her head in a futile effort to protect herself. The boulder sailed over them and she turned to see it just as it impacted with a second giant coming around the corner of the mountain. 

The blow knocked it down and the first giant gave a roar as though of triumph. 

Bilba didn’t see if the second giant got up because suddenly more debris was falling from overhead and she scrambled back against the side of the mountain. The falling rock hit the ledge and pieces began to break away, opening wide gaps in the ledge.

Terror brought a feeling of cold a thousand times worse than the rain and falling night could bring. Bilba felt her heart speed up so fast it was a wonder it didn’t burst and her breathing was harsh and ragged, her chest heaving as it struggled to get in enough air. 

It couldn’t get worse than this, right? It couldn’t possibly get worse. 

At the head of the line Thorin roared something. Most of what he said was lost in the storm but she caught the word “shelter” and heartily agreed. 

It was right about then that the ledge began to split in two. 

Bilba watched in terror as the ledge split just behind Ori, Nori and Dori. The gap widened too fast to leap over and suddenly they were separated. Thorin, Bilba, Dwalin and the Ri brothers stood on one side and the rest of the Company on the other. 

The ground under her feet vibrated and Bilba dropped lower, grasping at whatever she could to try and keep her balance. Something seemed to pass over her head and she looked up to see a wall of rock cresting over her. Her eyes widened and her breath stopped completely. 

She was going to die right here. The rock would collapse on her and no one would even find her body. 

She shut her eyes and lowered her head, offering a soundless prayer to Eru for mercy, and waited. 

The ground continued to move, lightning and thunder kept crashing and the Company still screamed at one another but no sea of rock crashed down on her head. 

Bilba opened her eyes carefully and saw the rock was RISING, not falling. 

Oh, her mind supplied dumbly, she understood now. The way the ledge had split, the pile of rock growing taller and taller. 

The ledge they’d been standing on had been the legs of a rock giant. 

Bilba let out a moan of fear. She actually might have preferred the avalanche of rock, it would have been quicker. 

The shelf of rock shifted as the giant stood up and she tried to cling to it, her fingers slipping on the rain soaked stone. 

The giant took one step and Bilba saw the first giant again moving forward. It head butted the one they were on and suddenly the giant was spinning backward. Bilba screamed as the world rushed past her, pain pelting her face like small knives and wind rushing past with a great roar. Her stomach lurched with vertigo and she nearly threw up at the mad spinning. 

A massive jolt vibrated through her body, so hard it made her teeth clack. Thorin began screaming something and she saw the giant had hit against a solid portion of the mountain. Thorin had already leapt to solid ground, so to speak, and Bilba scrambled to follow. She ran the few feet and jumped through the air, trying to clear the small gap already appearing as the giant continued its spin. 

Strong arms caught her around the waist. Thorin swung her to safety and then turned immediately to help the Ri brothers get over. Ori barely made it as the giant regained its footing and moved to smash a fist into the first giant’s face, shattering its head and knocked it back against the mountain. 

The rest of the Company desperately tried to hang on through the movement. If only the giant would get near the mountain again they could leap off. 

Another giant appeared and she felt her heart sink at the sight of the giant boulder in its hand. The giant with the Company on its knees hadn’t noticed and Bilba found herself screaming out a warning, hoping desperately to protect the giant and, subsequently, her friends. 

The giant turned, only to be met by the boulder thrown by the new giant. Its head exploded, part of it slamming into the mountain over their head and forcing them to duck again to avoid the debris. 

Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. A series of scenes that would be burned into her memory the rest of her life. 

The giant began to go down, spinning slowly to fall on its back. 

It would fall straight down, taking her friends with it.

Bilba could see it, knew the outcome and knew there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“No,” she whispered, “please no.”

It seemed as though all the sound went away making it deathly quiet, or perhaps she was just so focused she couldn’t hear anything. 

Fili grabbed Kili and shoved him against the wall of the giant’s leg, wrapping his arms around him. Bombur grabbed his brother and cousin, squatting down and pulling them close. Gloin and Oin both pressed against the Princes, buttressing them with their own bodies as best they could. Balin simply stood still, looking up toward them. She would realize later he was looking at his brother, holding eye contact until the very end.

And then they were gone.


	25. Chapter 25

Sound returned.

Thunder, lightning, the sound and feel of rain on rocks.

Why did she always lose people in the rain?

 

 

 

 

Thorin.

 

 

 

 

 

Thorin was screaming.

 

 

 

 

 

Bilba turned, her body stiff. Her mind was still blank, unable to form proper thought. Dwalin and Nori were holding onto Thorin who was screaming incoherently and lunging at the side of the cliff.

Her mother had screamed too.

Her eyes traveled back to see Ori cowering against the mountain, his eyes wide and horrified. Dori knelt next to him, one hand on the ground and the other on his face as he cried.

Next to him was a dark slit in the rock.

A cave. Of course there was a cave.

Her feet moved, taking her past Ori and Dori and into the entrance of the cave.

Moonlight lit it but she still did a walk around, ensuring it was empty before returning back outside.

She managed to get Dori and Ori up and pushed them into the cave before turning to the three still at the edge.

Thorin had collapsed to his knees and was screaming over the edge of the cliff. Dwalin and Nori still had hold of his arms.

Bilba walked to them.

She knelt beside Dwalin and grabbed his arm.

“Dwalin.” He ignored her but that was all right, she had time. “Dwalin. Dwalin. Dwalin.”

Her voice, each time she spoke was flat. It finally got through to him and he turned to look at her, despair etched in permanent lines on his face. She pulled at his arm, trying to get him up.

“I found a cave.”

He blinked; focus coming back slowly into his eyes. He turned and said something to Nori. The two of them got a better grip on Thorin and pulled him up.

He began to fight again as they pulled him back from the ledge, struggling to break out of their hold.

Bilba watched for a few moments and then quietly stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around him.

Moving, she pressed against him, laying her head against his chest. His heart beat frantically under her cheek and his chest heaved in frantic breaths.

He couldn’t fight without risking pushing her over the edge.

Thorin stopped fighting.

Bilba was vaguely disappointed.

She pulled back and saw Thorin staring straight ahead, an empty look on his face. She wondered if that was how she looked.

Thorin and Nori got him turned around and escorted him into the cave.

Bilba watched and then turned back to the edge.

The rain had stopped at some point and the thunder and lightning had moved off somewhere in the distance.

A cold wind whipped around her, cutting through her wet clothes and lifting her soaked hair.

A tear leaked from her eye and ran in a hot streak down her face. It was soon followed by another and another still until a veritable river ran down her face, even as she stood in utter silence, unmoving.

The wind whipped down through the gorge below. It was too dark to see but she imagined they would be able to see the bottom once the sun rose.

Arms slid around her and she realized Dwalin and Nori had returned. She allowed them to escort her into the cave.

They had set Thorin along the side and they took her over and placed her next to him.

Thorin was catatonic, his eyes empty and fixed on nothing.

Dwalin said something to Nori and together the two began to build a fire from pieces of kindling and driftwood scattered about the cave.

Hearing a noise Bilba looked to see Ori sprawled across Dori’s lap, sobbing.

Her own tears had stopped already.

She studied the floor, watching water from her clothing drip off onto the sand, turning it into mud.

A thin line grew outward from it, tiny lines branching out as the water soaked through the sand.

A larger, thicker line suddenly appeared, splitting through it and she frowned.

Her eyes watched as the line continued, racing along the floor to be joined by more lines, the sand falling in as though…

As though the floor were hollow underneath.

Panic snapped through the stupor in her mind.

“Dwalin!”

His head snapped up but it was already too late.

The floor opened up beneath them and then they were falling. Bilba grunted as she slammed into unforgiving rock and then she was sliding, almost as fast as she’d gone on the stone giants. Her body whipped around turns, bouncing off the wall or the others, sometimes leaving the chute all together and going briefly airborne. Pain sliced through her from a million cuts and the promise of future bruises.

Then the chute was gone and she was slamming into the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of her.

Pure instinct had her rolling out of the way just as Thorin and Dwalin fell out into a heap. Nori, Ori and Dori followed soon after.

Bilba struggled to her feet, grabbing Thorin’s arm and pulling him up with her as much as she could. He still looked dazed and unaware of his surroundings.

Which was probably a good thing as what seemed like an army of goblins was suddenly swarming toward them.

Bilba let out a shriek and grabbed her sword from its sheath. The second one hung in a small sheath at the small of her back but when she reached for it the sheath was empty, the small sword lost at some point.

Fili had given it to her, it was all she had left of him.

Dwalin and the others had also scrambled to their feet but the goblins were on them before they could draw their own weapons.

One lunged at her and she lashed out, instinctively dancing back as she’d been taught.

It didn’t occur to her that Thorin was behind her.

Or that he was standing very near the edge of a massive drop.

She didn’t think her bumping into him would be just enough to knock one heel off the edge and that would be just enough to make him lose his balance.

She felt him fall away from her, turned in time to see him flying backward, arms thrown out.

Bilba caught his arm in the idiotic notion that she could pull a fully grown and armored Dwarf back from the edge.

She could not.

One second she was standing while, around her, Dwalin and the Ri brothers tried to fight off an onslaught of goblins.

The next she was falling with Thorin into the dark.

She didn’t even have time to scream.


	26. Chapter 26

Her head hurt, a dull, throbbing pain hammering against her skull.

Bilba groaned and struggled to pull herself to consciousness.

What happened?

As awareness filtered back she became aware that almost her entire body felt sore and battered.

She pulled her eyes open and caught a faint, fuzzy white glow over her head.

Her vision cleared slowly and she realized she was looking at some kind of lichen. It covered the ceiling over her head and cast a pale light into the dark around her. Parts of it were blocked and as her mind cleared more she found herself lying in the midst of a large patch of some kind of mushroom. She could feel crushed stalks and caps under her back but it appeared she must have fallen dead center as undamaged ones surrounded her on all sides.

Carefully she pulled herself to a sitting position, wavering as dizziness assailed her.

It was a stroke of luck, her mind hazily supplied; the mushrooms must have cushioned her fall and probably saved her life.

Cushioned her fall.

Had she fallen?

Memory flooded back so sharp she gasped, one hand going to her chest.

Fili and Kili and the rest…the last time she’d seen them flashed through her mind and she shut her eyes.

And then the cave and the floor…Dwalin and the Ri brothers being dragged away…

Her eyes snapped open.

Thorin had fallen with her.

Where was Thorin?

Panic rose in her and she scrambled to her feet. Dizziness hit her once again and she staggered, one hand going to the wall for support. Again she closed her eyes and forced herself to take shallow breaths, in through her mouth and out through her nose.

The dizziness began to fade and, with it, even more of the fuzziness in her mind.

For the first time she became aware of the faint noise of water and…her eyes narrowed…was that…singing?

The sound drifted in and out, starting and stopping. Oddly it was when the sound stopped and silence reigned that she found herself the most unnerved.

She stepped out of the mushrooms carefully. There was no sign of her sword or of Thorin. Had he woken up, not seen her in the mushrooms and gone to search for her?

 _Or maybe he did see you and left you anyway_.

Bilba opened her mouth to call for him and then shut it again as she, again, caught the faint sound of singing. It didn’t sound like Thorin but she had never heard of an orc or goblin that went around belting out music.

Another, fainter sound that she couldn’t identify came to her. It was rhythmic, going in time with the singing as though the singer was keeping time somehow.

She shuffled forward, sliding one foot slowly in front of another. The lichen provided some light but it was dim and didn’t fully illuminate the floor. She didn’t want to risk tripping over Thorin, or something else, and alerting whatever it was that was singing.

Her toe connected with something cold and small on the floor, it clattered a couple inches and came to a stop. Bilba froze but the singing went on unabated and she relaxed. She dropped to one knee and put her hand out, feeling through the dirt and whatever else was on the ground. Her fingers connected with something and she lifted it up, holding it up into the light from the lichen as best she could.

A ring.

Bilba frowned in confusion, turning it in her hand. The ring was small and simple, a gold band with no writing or markings on it.

What in the world was a ring doing down here?

The singing, which had stopped at some point, started up again and Bilba flinched in surprise. She started to slide the ring into her pocket but, worried it could fall out, changed her mind mid-motion and put it on her finger instead.

For a second she could swear the world around her changed, grayed out and grew dimmer. She brushed it off; it was probably an aftereffect of her banging her head on the way down. For the first time it occurred to her to actually put her hand up, sliding it through her hair where the worst pain was. She flinched at the tender feeling and the obvious lump but could feel no split in the skin or blood.

She took a deep breath and started forward again.

The tunnel she was in was narrow and twisted sharply just ahead, blocking her view.

It appeared to be lighter up ahead and she hoped it meant there was an opening to the outside world.

The singing grew louder as she got closer and the second noise slowly defined itself in her mind as being akin to an object striking another object, though she couldn’t tell what or why. It wasn’t stone.

Something niggled at the back of her mind and cold unwound in her stomach.

WHERE was Thorin?

She edged around the corner and saw a large boulder jutting out in front of her, narrowing the tunnel.

The singing grew louder.

 _The cold hard lands_ …thunk… _they bites our hands_ …thunk… _they gnaws our FEEEEEET_.

Bilba lowered herself to her hands and knees and crept up behind the boulder.

 _The rocks and stones_ …thunk… _are like old bones_ …thunk… _all bare of MEAAAAT_.

The cold feeling inside was getting worse. She crawled to the side of the boulder and began to peer around.

The first thing she saw was Thorin’s sword, the handle a mere foot or so away from her.

 _But stream and pool_ …THUNK… _is wet and cool_ …THUNK… _so nice for FEEEEEET_!

She almost didn’t comprehend what she saw next.

The tunnel opened into a massive cavern. A lake occupied most of it and lichen stained the walls in larger quantities, casting the entire area in a soft, silver glow. Near the edge of the water was a strange creature she couldn’t identify. It was tall and very thin with almost no hair. It was dressed only in a loincloth and had pale, almost corpse white skin.

The creature was the source of the singing. It was straddling something and its other hand kept rising up and down, creating the rhythmic noise she’d been hearing.

It had stopped singing for the moment, focused on what it was doing.

Bilba watched and finally realized the creature was holding a rock, lifting it over its head and bringing it down again and again and again.

Her eyes went to the object it was straddling.

It was so dark, even the lichen didn’t help with how gray and dark the area was. She could barely make out the object.

She studied it and, slowly, made out it wasn’t an object at all but a form. Long, dark hair trailed out to one side, bits of light glinted off armor, the motion from the creature’s arm lightly ruffled fur from a coat.

Bilba stopped breathing.

The creature was straddling Thorin.

The rock came back up, fell back down and, this time, the THUNK made a shudder run through her.

The noises, the sounds she’d been hearing had been the creature bludgeoning Thorin.

This whole time.

Since she’d regained consciousness.

Probably before. Thorin hadn’t fallen there; he had to have been dragged.

The creature had been bludgeoning Thorin this whole time.

Which probably meant –

The rock rose again.

She couldn’t tell if Thorin’s chest was moving.

The creature started to sing again.

Bilba’s mind whited out.

 _We only wish_ \--

The scream of pure, unadulterated RAGE that ripped from Bilba’s throat would have cowed a Balrog.

As it was the creature jumped a foot and fell off Thorin, scrambling to its feet and looking frantically for the source of the scream.

Bilba, by this time, had already come around the rock.

She grabbed Thorin’s sword.

The creature was still looking.

Bilba charged across the sand.

THOSE DAMN TROLLS.

She raised the sword.

THE DAMN STONE GIANTS.

It still didn’t seem to see her.

She didn’t know why.

She didn’t care.

DAMN GOBLINS.

She hadn’t saved him.

She hadn’t saved ANY OF THEM.

White hot tears of pure rage coursed down her face.

“YOU BASTARD!”

The creature jerked, finally looking in her direction.

It was far, far too late.

“YOU BASTARD!” Bilba shrieked again, the words near incoherent as they ripped from her throat.

She swung the sword and caught it in the side of the head with the flat of the blade.

The creature went flying, landing several feet from Thorin’s prone body and rolling.

“DAMN YOU!” Bilba screamed, scrambling after it. “DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!”

Then she was standing over it and swinging the sword.

And swinging the sword again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

She screamed in rage and pain. Her body shook and hot waves of pure hatred flowed off of her. She swung the sword like an axe until the muscles of her arms shrieked at her. She swung until the thing beneath her stopped making any sound, stopped resembling anything that had ever been alive.

And still she swung.

It was the Trolls who’d slaughtered her parents, who’d taken Atherton and his mother and father, who’d taken her brother.

It was the Stone Giants who’d taken Fili and Kili and Bofur and Bifur and Bombur, Oin and Gloin and Balin.

It was the goblins who’d taken Dwalin and Nori and Ori and Dori.

And it was HER.

Stupid, PATHETIC, USELESS, HER.

Bilba, who couldn’t save her mother, or her father, or Atherton, or his mother, or his father, or BUNGO, or Fili or Kili or Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Oin, Gloin, Balin, Dwalin, Nori, Ori, Dori – or THORIN.

Everyone else died and she

Bilba who wasn’t smart enough or good enough or simply ENOUGH to convince her mother not to just sit down and die.

Bilba who FAILED to save her family, who FAILED to save her second family, who stood by and did NOTHING while Thorin was MURDERED ONLY FEET FROM HER.

She dropped to her knees and a wail ripped from her very soul, echoing through the cavern.

Even then she continued to try and swing the sword. It was to long for her to swing from that position, however, and she was so exhausted it barely lifted an inch anyway but she didn’t stop. Her chest heaved, her breathing was ragged and her head throbbed in time with her pulse.

She might have kept it up forever.

A groan sounded from behind her.

Bilba froze.

Another groan.

Bilba dropped the sword.

She whipped around. Dirt and stone ripped through her trousers and tore the skin off her knees but she didn’t feel it.

Thorin still lay in the same place.

But now one hand was raised, pressed against his forehead.

It was like she’d been drowning and, at the very last second, someone reached in and pulled her out.

Bilba made a strangled sound and half scrambled, half ran to his side.

She dropped to the ground next to him, her hands touching his face and his arms frantically.

“Thorin? Thorin? Are you all right? Thorin?”

The side of his head sported a cut and blood splattered his face, matting his hair and beard. His eyes were open. Glazed, but open and Bilba couldn’t help herself.

She cupped his face between her hands, bent her head and kissed him full on the lips.

It wasn’t how she’d always pictured her first kiss going, it was a thousand times better. Because Thorin was alive and she hadn’t failed yet AGAIN.

She pulled back and saw his brow furrow in confusion, his eyes tracking sightlessly. Fear gripped her, could he not see?

“Bilba?” Thorin waved a hand hazily. “Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” Bilba said, fighting to keep the panic out of her voice. “Can’t you see me?”

He grimaced. “I can see fine. I just can’t see you.”

He didn’t comment on the kiss and she didn’t either.

He struggled to push himself to a sitting position and Bilba lunged to help him, grunting with the effort of levering him up.

As she did he reached out and found her arm, frowning.

“What is this?” He said. “Why can I not see you?”

“I don’t know,” Bilba said frantically, her mind searching for the answer.

Now that she thought about it the creature hadn’t seemed to be able to see her either.

What was – her mind went to the ring on her finger, it was the only thing that was different. Could it possibly be that?

“Hold on.” She reached down and grabbed the ring, tugging it off.

Immediately the world around her sharpened and grew brighter. “It must have been this ring,” she said holding it up. “I found it on the ground when I woke up.”

She wondered if perhaps it had belonged to the creature and had been dropped while it had been dragging Thorin away.

She looked up to see Thorin staring at her, his eyes wide in horror. “Bilba!” He lunged forward, grabbing her arms. “Where are you hurt?”

“What?” She looked at him in confusion and then down at herself. Her clothing was absolutely drenched in blood.

Her arms and hands especially were soaked in black ichor. Orcs and goblins bled black she thought mildly, could it have been some sort of weird mutated version of one of them? She noticed her hands beginning to shake and her body felt cold as the adrenaline faded.

“I thought it had killed you,” she whispered.

“You thought what had killed me?” Thorin said.

Bilba nodded past him. “That. It was hitting you with a rock.” She spotted the rock in question and picked it up, showing it to him. “It just kept hitting you,” she whispered, her eyes on the blood splattered on the stone. “Over and over and over again.”

Thorin was in the process of turning around. He paused to glance at the rock. “I’m a dwarf,” he grumbled. “We’re carved from stone; it’d take a larger rock than that to kill me, or at least several hours worth of hitting me with it.”

Bilba hadn’t known that, but was grateful. Any other creature would have been dead.

Thorin was trying to struggle to his feet. Bilba got up and ducked under his arm, helping him as best she could and going with him over to the creature.

Or what was left of it.

“Bilba,” Thorin started to say, his voice trailing off.

“I thought it had killed you,” Bilba repeated. “I thought it was just me.”

“Just you?” Thorin said. “Why would it be just--”

He remembered. She saw the second it happened.

Thorin’s legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. The empty look was back in his eyes, his face blank.

Bilba glanced at him and then at the remnants of the creature. She wasn’t sorry she’d killed it, it had been trying to murder Thorin and she’d acted in his defense and most likely her own.

She thought back to the person she’d been when she left the Shire. That Bilba would have been horrified. Even the Bilba from back when the Trolls had attacked would have been, HAD been horrified. She could still remember falling to her knees and vomiting afterward.

Now, however…now she was just grateful she’d finally been able to DO something besides watch everyone she ever loved and cared for die.

She knelt next to Thorin and tugged on his arm. “Come on, let’s move, all right?”

He ignored her, back in the same catatonic state he’d been in before.

She sighed and left him to it. The blood was starting to get to her. She retrieved Thorin’s sword and headed to the edge of the lake.

It took a long time to clean herself up and she couldn’t help but think back to the last time she’d had to do this. The shaking grew worse until her entire body vibrated with it. Cold settled like ice in her bones. She wrapped her arms around her chest and rode it out, waiting until the tremors faded. Her eyes went to her arms, still splattered in blood and she sighed, it seemed it was her fate to spend her life covered in blood. There were people like that she knew, she’d read about them in stories as a child.

They always fell into two categories.

The villain, covered in the blood of the innocent.

And the hero, forced to spill the blood of evil to protect the innocent.

Bilba slid Thorin’s sword over and began to wash the blood off it.

Hobbits were neither villain nor hero, they weren’t covered in blood. They lived peaceful, quiet lives filled with family and friends.

She was nothing at all like a Hobbit.

If it really WAS her lot in life to be covered in the blood –

Her hands slowed to a stop as they cleaned the blood off the blade of the sword.

It that was her lot –

She’d fought it for so long.

She tried to be a good Hobbit, a proper Hobbit. Even when darkness and blood found her she’d tried to put it behind her and continue on, living in peace and quiet.

But then it came again and she couldn’t even say it was fate.

She’d CHOSEN to go on this quest. She’d RUN to meet it.

Had she stayed in the Shire…

Why hadn’t she stayed in the Shire? Didn’t she WANT peace and quiet? She could have stayed, sent the dwarves on their way with a good meal and a wish for good fortune. She could have married Fram, raised a family in Bag End.

She kept fighting to be proper and have peace…but when she HAD it…she’d cast it aside the second adventure came calling, even though she knew where it always, inevitably led.

Bilba pulled the now clean sword from the water and laid it across her lap. Spots of blood still splattered her trousers, turning the brown fabric a rusty brown. It wouldn’t come out no matter how hard she scrubbed. The Elves had gotten out the few spots she hadn’t been able to clean from the Trolls and now she’d just gone and added more.

She studied the sword, her eyes running along the blade.

Maybe…

Maybe it was time to stop running away from who she was.

She’d tried to be a proper Hobbit and her family had died.

She’d tried to do everything right and her second family had died.

She’d picked up a sword and run to battle………………………..…and Thorin had lived.

She thought of Atherton dying to protect her, followed soon by his father. She thought of Fili and Dwalin trying to teach her sword fighting, Kili trying to teach her archery, all with the idea of her being able to defend herself.

Everyone was always seeking to protect her.

Her fingers tracked lightly across the blade, tracing the runes etched into it.

She didn’t want anyone to defend her anymore.

She didn’t want to defend herself anymore.

She wanted to defend others.

If she was going to be covered in blood.

If she was actually going to seek it out herself.

She didn’t want it to be the blood of the innocent.

She wanted it to be the blood of evil.

She wanted to save all the Bungos and Athertons, the Filis and Kilis and Thorins…all the people who SHOULD have been able to live lives of peace and quiet but who’d had those futures ruthlessly ripped from them by the hand of evil.

She didn’t want anyone trying to spare her anymore.

She wanted to spare them.

 

She wanted to be the hero.


	27. Chapter 27

_I tried to warn you._

_I wish I could have made you understand._

Bilba woke up with tears streaming down her face. It felt as though she’d been involved in a passionate discussion with someone but, now, awake she couldn’t remember who or what it had been about.

She felt a great sense of sadness, however, and the feeling whatever it was she’d forgotten had been vitally important.

She started to move and grimaced as what felt like every muscle protested. She’d fallen asleep after getting cleaned up and it had allowed her body time to stiffen. Not to mention the fact her clothing was still wet from getting cleaned up and the air in the cavern was cold.

Maybe she could borrow Fili’s coat. He wouldn’t – memory rose again and sadness welled at the thought of her lost friends. The old her probably would have curled up and cried. A large part of her still wished to.

Now she shut her eyes and took a deep, measured breath. She accepted the pain and then got up anyway.

Thorin’s sword was still next to her and she grabbed it as she stood.

She looked to the side and saw, to her surprise, Thorin himself seated only a few feet away. He had his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped around his knees. He gave no reaction to her but stared with dull, lifeless eyes and a blank expression at some random spot in the distance.

Thorin Oakenshield diminished, no kingdom, no heirs and no people.

“I’m going to try and find my sword,” she told him.

He gave no response.

Bilba stepped over, laid his sword next to him and left him to it.

She retraced her steps slowly and carefully, hoping the creature hadn’t found the blade and thrown it somewhere. She finally discovered it wedged in a corner under mushrooms back where she’d initially regained consciousness. She pulled it out in relief and slid it back into its sheath. She really liked that sword.

She looked around for Fili’s knife as well, in the faint hope it might somehow be there, but found no sign of it.

She allowed her fingers to go to the empty spot at her back where the sheath and knife had been for just a second. Then she carefully put her arm down by her side, fingers curled.

She didn’t need a physical reminder of Fili. He lived well enough in her heart and mind, along with his brother and all the others.

Turning her back on the mushrooms, Bilba returned to the main cavern. She walked along the edges, looking to see what, if any exits, there might be. As she walked she passed a number of piles of bones and skulls. Many of them were small and she soon realized they were probably the skeletons of goblin children. She knelt to examine a few closer and felt her stomach recoil at the sight of tooth marks on some of the bones.

Granted, they were goblin children, but they were CHILDREN nonetheless.

She suddenly felt even less guilt or remorse over killing that creature.

She continued her search and found a number of tunnels leading out but had no way to know where any of them led.

She returned to Thorin and knelt beside him.

“I don’t suppose dwarves have an ability to find if an exit leads to the surface do they?”

He continued to ignore her.

Bilba stood up. She reached down, grabbed his arm and started tugging. She set her heels against the rock and pulled as best she could but she wasn’t strong enough to move him.

After that she resorted to yelling. She ranted and railed at him, threatening, belittling, taunting.

None of it worked.

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Had she saved him only to lose him to himself?

It was just like when –

“Aren’t you the one who said we paid homage to the dead by living?”

Nothing, he didn’t even twitch.

She tried again. “You dishonor your nephews, is that what you want?”

Still silence. Bilba looked out over the lake. Her eyes burned and a lump formed in her throat.

She could stay with him and keep trying. She’d done it once before, too scared to move forward on her own.

If she had, could she have found her way to safety? Could she have found help?

There was no way to know and no way to go back.

There was only forward. The only way to become who she wanted to be was to stop being who she had been and the only way to do THAT was to stop reacting the same way.

No matter how much it terrified her.

She looked back to Thorin then knelt and began brushing the dirt and debris off his coat and clothing. Once that was done she went the few steps to the water’s edge, removed her jacket and soaked it in the water.

It wasn’t the cleanest water, or the cleanest jacket for that matter, but it was the best she had. Carrying it back she knelt again and began to clean the blood and dirt off his face. Thorin never showed the slightest reaction. Bilba thought back to just after the Trolls when she’d talked to him at the river’s edge. He’d taken care of her then; the least she could do was return the favor now.

Before she left, her mind whispered, and her gut clenched at the thought.

She eventually got the blood cleaned off. With it gone it was obvious the cut where the creature had been striking him was indeed shallow, it probably wouldn’t even scar. She ran a thumb over it lightly; grateful again she’d been able to save him, from the creature at least.

His hair and braids were destroyed, filthy, the hair matted and tangled. She chewed on her lip for a moment, studying them. She knew hair, beards and specifically braids were hugely important to dwarven culture and held a variety of meanings. She had no idea what the braids of anyone in the Company had meant. It bothered her now that she hadn't asked and would never have the chance.

She knew messing with them was probably some sort of taboo but, then again, what did it really matter anymore?

As gently as possible she removed the beads and began working out the braids. It took multiple trips back to the water before she could clean out the blood and grime. She had no brush so she used her fingers to gently work out the tangles and straighten it out.

Sitting on the cold rock was uncomfortable and trying to kneel quickly had her abused muscles screaming at her.

The discomfort finally got so bad she moved his hands, pushed his legs down and straddled his lap, sliding her legs along either side of his waist. It wasn’t as though he was aware of anything she was doing so the action didn’t embarrass her as it might have otherwise. She separated out the hair needed and carefully began to braid them again. It was fortunate Thorin had simple braids as she’d have had no chance of recreating them if they were as complex as some of the others she’d seen in the Company. The thought brought a fresh wave of grief and she bit her lower lip, hard, to fight back the urge to break down and start crying.

The fact she knew the precise location and thickness of Thorin’s braids, as simple as they were, as well as exactly where the beads went, showed just how closely she’d watched him and how utterly oblivious she’d been.

It was a wonder the entire Company hadn’t known about it.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. She kept her eyes focused entirely on the hair. “I wasn’t enough for my mother either.”

She finished the first braid and picked up a bead to slide into place.

“I kind of glossed over how she died back when I told you,” she continued, gathering up hair to start the second braid. “The truth is she was hurt, but not THAT badly.” She paused, holding his hair lightly in her hand. “She could have lived.”

Could have lived, would have lived, should have lived.

If Bilba had only been stronger. She couldn’t lift Thorin but she had no doubt she could have dragged her mother if she’d tried. If she had would Belladonna have eventually gotten up and walked on her own?

She split the strands into three sections and began to braid. “But she didn’t want to. I yelled and threatened and begged and pleaded but it wasn’t enough.” The braid was almost done and her fingers slowed, putting off the inevitable. “I wasn’t enough,” she whispered.

She finished the braids in silence, placing the beads back and settling them gently against his shoulders.

“I’m sorry I’m not enough for you either.” She reached up, placed her hands on either side of his face and leaned up to press a kiss on his forehead before settling back.

When she did she was startled to find his eyes on her. Her face flushed hot and she started to move only to have his arms come up and gently grip her arms.

“Why does that feel like good-bye?” His voice was hoarse, but it was more than her mother had given her and she was grateful for it.

“Because I can’t stay,” Bilba said her voice shaking. “I’ve spent too much time with the dead already.”

She freed herself, got up and made sure his sword was near his hand. She felt his eyes tracking her but he said nothing and made no effort to move so she steeled herself and headed toward one of the exits.

She couldn’t look back.

There was no way to know where any of the exits led but she picked the furthest one just to avoid leaving the cavern as long as possible.

Far too soon, however, she found herself in front of the black opening. There didn’t appear to be any light coming from it, no sign of the lichen so prevalent in the cavern. There was no light coming from outside either which meant her eyes would have nothing to adjust to. Once she walked into that blackness it would stay black.

The thought was enough to make her want to go back and beg Thorin to go with her as she’d once done with Belladonna.

She didn’t.

She wasn’t that person anymore, didn’t WANT to be that person anymore.

She drew her sword and held it loosely at her side. Then she straightened her back, held her head high and took a step forward.

Only to come to a total stop as a hand closed firmly around her wrist and she was tugged around to see Thorin standing behind her.

“That way doesn’t lead out.” He started to say something else, stopped and then simply turned and headed in another direction. He kept hold of her wrist pulling her along with him. Bilba went without complaint, to dumbfounded by his sudden action to offer one.

Soon they were standing in front of another exit that, as far as she could tell, looked identical to the first.

“That way?” Bilba said, almost to herself. She started to step forward and stopped again as Thorin stepped forward with her.

She looked at him with a frown and then suddenly noticed his sword back in its sheath.

Hope bloomed like a starburst deep inside.

“Thorin,” she whispered. She was half afraid if she gave voice to the hope it would be taken from her. She had no idea what she'd said, or done specifically, to make him get up. As far as she knew he'd simply come to the decision on his own without any impact from her actions.

Regardless, she wasn't going to question it if it meant she didn't have to step into the darkness alone. So, instead, she simply nodded and turned to face the tunnel to hide the grin of relief. “No lichen.”

Thorin was quiet a moment. “Why would that be a problem?”

“Because there’s no light,” Bilba said.

“You can’t see?” Thorin said in surprise. “The way looks light enough to me.”

“I would imagine,” Bilba said slowly and somewhat sarcastically, “it probably has to do with you being a dwarf.”

He gave a considering look. “Possibly.”

“Are you sure it’s that way?” Bilba asked. “You did get lost on the way to my house, twice.”

He glowered. “It was hard to find.”

“And yet you’re the only one who had a problem,” Bilba mused.

Thorin glared at her, his eyes still dark with the memory of the lost. “It’s this way.” He insisted.

He released her wrist and strode forward, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Bilba followed with hesitation, her footsteps slowing to a shuffle as the darkness closed around her. She sheathed her sword, there were no goblins apparently close enough to make it glow, put out a hand to feel the wall and kept it there as she moved forward.

Thorin caught her hand, intertwining their fingers and pulled her away from the wall.

They moved quicker after that. Bilba walked tense and stiff at first, expecting to smack into rock or trip over something at any moment. Thorin led her perfectly, however, tugging her easily to the side at times, presumably when she was about to hit something. A few times he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against his side to guide her around something, in a different direction or, once or twice, to physically lift her up and over some object on the ground.

She didn’t so much as stub a toe.

The darkness pressed in on her like a physical thing and her eyes strained to find something to focus on. Given the amount of twists and turns they’d already taken she had no doubt that, if she’d tried to find her way on her own, she’d have died, alone, in the dark.

“Do you think we could find our way back up to that platform?”

“Why?” Thorin’s voice sounded stronger.

“Maybe…” Bilba hesitated. “I was thinking…the others--”

“They are dead,” Thorin said shortly, “or soon will be.”

“If we could get back,” Bilba said, “maybe we could--”

“We would simply join them in death,” Thorin said, his voice tired. “Trying to rescue them would be even more insane than facing the dragon with just thirteen.”

Fourteen, Bilba thought. It was part of why they wanted her, or so Kili had said.

Speaking of which –

“We still could finish the quest for them,” she said. “Go try and get the Arkenstone I mean.”

It was what the others had died for after all.

Fourteen or two, the quest was no less insane. She had been the one intended to go inside, after all, and she was still there. Of course they had no supplies now. Most had been lost with the rest of the Company. The pack Bilba had been wearing had been torn off on the way down the chute into the goblin caves and she had no idea what had happened to Thorin's pack. Maybe there was a town nearby or somewhere they could forage for food and fresh water? Of course there would be no way too carry the water with them --

Thorin came to a stop, breaking her train of thought.

“Thorin?”

“The quest is over.” There was a finality to his voice, as if more than the quest was over and Bilba felt the same fear she’d felt earlier when she couldn’t get him up.

He moved suddenly to the side and then her hand was being pulled down as he sat.

“Thorin?” Fear must have colored her voice. He tugged her down next to him, close enough that they were touching.

“We’ve been walking for three hours and we have at least another three ahead of us. We’ll rest and then move on.”

“Oh,” Bilba said, relief that he wasn’t slipping back into the despondency from before, “good.” Now that he mentioned it she was tired. She'd also had nothing to eat or drink since the morning, whenever that had been, and her mouth was parched, her stomach gnawing on itself. She thought of the water back in the cavern but then immediately rejected the notion, it had been stagnant and had Eru knew what in it.

They sat in silence for a while until it got to be too much for Bilba. Earlier the quiet had been broken by the scrape of Thorin’s boots on stone, now there was nothing. Combined with the dark, it was as though the rock itself was pressing down upon her.

“What are you going to do now?” She asked.

Thorin shifted beside her but didn’t answer.

Bilba drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Walking at such a brisk pace had kept her temperature up but now her body was cooling and the cold from the tunnel, and the rock pressed behind and under her, started to leech in.

“If you aren’t going to continue the quest,” she said, “what will you do? Go back home?”

“I have no home to go back to,” he said, his voice flat. “But I will return to face judgment.”

Bilba looked toward him, startled, even though she couldn’t see him. “Judgment? Judgment for what?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “What do you think? You said yourself the quest was given to me in the belief I wouldn’t be insane enough to go on it. I did and led those loyal to me straight to their deaths.”

“It was their choice,” Bilba insisted.

“It was out of loyalty!” Thorin snapped.

A noise came from him and she realized he had slumped against the wall.

He was silent for a long time.

Finally, he spoke again.

“I shall return and atone for my crimes.” His voice was tired.

Bilba felt trepidation race up her spine. She shivered, the cold coming from more than just the tunnel now and drew her legs in tighter. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I will return and face the families of those I have lost,” he stated, his voice flat. “If I am lucky, and they choose to show mercy, I will be shaved of my beard and hair, branded as one who has brought dishonor to the very name of Mahal and cast out as an exile.”

Bilba gaped in his direction. “And if you are not lucky?”

“I will be executed.”

“But they were all adults!” Bilba insisted. “Do they take no responsibility for their own choices?”

“They do not,” Thorin whispered. “I am their King and they followed me when I asked, even when the quest was one I am sure they considered as insane as you did. The punishment will fall on me, as it should.”

Bilba had never seen a dwarf with no beard or hair. And a brand…she didn’t even want to ask what that would be.

“Where will you go?” She asked. “If they exile you?”

“I don’t--” His voice broke and he fell into silence.

Bilba heard him inhale sharply and realized he was struggling not to cry.

Thorin Oakenshield…crying.

Her mind went to her nightmares. Thorin crying over the bodies of his nephews.

The nightmare had had her waking up screaming so many times.

She would take it a thousand times more over the reality.

Hesitantly she got up and crawled into his lap, sitting sideways. She wrapped her arms around him and drew his head down to her shoulder.

He wrapped both arms around her and struggled to get himself under control.

She was glad it was dark because she doubted very much he would ever want anyone to see it and she knew absolutely she didn’t want to. Thorin was strong and powerful and a leader and just the sound of him fighting not to break down rocked the foundation of everything she knew to be true.

When his breathing finally returned to normal he didn’t make any attempt to move, even though the position must have been at least slightly uncomfortable for him.

“You can come with me,” Bilba said finally.

Thorin went completely still.

“What?”

Bilba shifted until she was straddling his lap again, though it was a thousand times more awkward when he was aware of her. In the back of her mind she heard Lobelia’s shrill voice lecturing her on propriety when with males but she ignored it. The last thing she ever wanted to hear, or listen to, was Lobelia. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him forward until she could press her forehead against his.

“I know it’s not much,” she said, “and it doesn’t compare to what you lost but Bag End has more than enough room for the both of us.”

He sucked in a breath. “You would offer such a thing?”

“Of course.”

She could feel him shaking his head against hers. “It would cause you problems.”

It WOULD cause her problems. She was idiotically in love with him and having him RIGHT THERE every second would not serve her efforts to get over so futile an infatuation.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll just tell them you’re my adopted uncle.”

She flinched as soon as she said it, her mind going to the two who’d actually had the right to call him Uncle.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you suffering,” Bilba said.

“I deserve to suffer,” he almost snarled. His arms tightened around her, pulling her against his chest.

Bilba tightened her arms in return, bringing her face so close to his she could feel his lips against hers.

“You don’t,” she whispered. “I loved them too, all of them. Doesn’t that give me some right to judge?”

Thorin gave no answer so Bilba pressed on.

“Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thror, son of Thrain,” she said, her voice so low as to be near inaudible. “I, Bilba Baggins, was and remain a friend to Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Nori, and Dori.”

He flinched with every name, particularly the first two, but said nothing.

“And as their friend I now hereby pass my judgment on your involvement in their fate.”

She pulled up and leaned over to the side to whisper in his ear.

“I declare you, Thorin Oakenshield, innocent. Their blood is not on your hands.”

She settled back again.

Thorin’s breathing was harsh and ragged in the darkness.

Bilba reached up and gently put her hands on his face, feeling the wetness she knew she’d find. She lightly wiped her thumbs across it, feeling the prickle of his beard and the lines carved from a long life of hardship and pain.

“One could slave a thousand lifetimes,” he said, his voice gruff with some emotion she couldn’t define, “and never deserve one like you.”

He kissed her.

HE.

KISSED.

HER.

Bilba was so startled she didn’t react. Almost immediately she felt his body tense and he started to pull away.

She surged forward, tightening her grip around his neck. The kiss deepened and she pressed forward as if she could actually merge with him if she just got close enough.

It was several LONG minutes before they broke apart.

Even then he didn’t remove his arms from around her waist and she kept hers firmly in place around his neck.

As she did Bilba’s mind was swirling and she struggled to stop the jittery feeling that had overtaken her.

Why had he kissed her? It couldn’t possibly mean – no, there was no way, he was ROYALTY. She was just a simple Hobbit, and a terrible one at that.

He couldn’t possibly –

“Bilba,” Thorin’s voice was husky, “the braids you did--”

Bilba felt her face flush and hoped his eyesight in the dark wasn’t so good that he could see it. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “it was just…”

She trailed off, unable to express what she’d been thinking at the time. That she’d been convinced it was her mother all over again, that she’d thought she’d have to leave him behind and it had broken her heart, or that she’d wanted him to look his finest so that if his body were ever stumbled upon those looking would see the majesty of Thorin Oakenshield and would know he had once commanded the hearts and loyalty of a band of dwarves finer than any that lived or had lived since.

“Braiding is important in our culture,” Thorin said carefully, “only done by oneself or by family.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilba repeated again, her body tensing with shame, “I didn’t intend to offend.”

He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. “The only time it is done by one not related by blood is when two dwarves have agreed to engage in courtship. At that time each dwarf puts a braid and bead into the other’s hair to show they are no long available for courting. The braid you did is not a courting braid but the intent would be considered the same among my people.”

Bilba desperately hoped the floor would open and swallow her whole, again, so powerful was her embarrassment. She started to try to pull away only to have his arms tighten again, holding her in place.

“Thorin.” She picked up one of the braids. “I’ll undo it and you--”

“I would keep it, if that is acceptable to you.”

Bilba stopped, frozen. She was pretty sure she wasn’t even breathing.

“What?”

He moved a hand from her waist, reaching up to lightly run it through her hair. She’d taken to hacking it off with one of Fili’s knives, much to his and Kili's everlasting horror and trauma, and had last done it before they’d started on the pass leaving the curls short and tight against her head.

“Your hair is too short for a braid at the moment,” Thorin said, “and I know you prefer it that way but perhaps if you allowed just a section to grow--”

“Thorin,” Bilba said, her stomach clenching, “you don’t – I mean you’re not--” She huffed in annoyance and tried again. His hand, meanwhile, had stopped in its movements through her hair and she could swear he was holding his breath. She moved a hand and settled it against his chest, startled at how hard his heart was thudding under her hand. “What I mean is I didn’t offer you a home to try and tie you down or obligate you. You’re free to do as you wish.” Her heart twisted at that, the thought of him potentially meeting someone else and bringing her back to Bag End…still, she had no right to demand anything from him. “You will always have a home at Bag End no matter what,” she said, “you don’t have to feel like--”

She didn’t get a chance to finish as he chose that moment to kiss her again. When he pulled back she felt him moving, his hands releasing her for a moment.

She felt something drop lightly over her head and settle with a weight against her breastbone. She put a hand up in surprise. She felt the piece of leather he’d been using to carry the key of Erebor around his neck but the key wasn’t on it.

Instead she felt a ring, the one Kili had told her was a family heirloom.

She started to protest but he cut her off. “Your hair is too short to braid and the beads I use in mine would not fit on the cord. I would give you the key to Erebor but, as I can no longer go there, it carries little meaning.” He gently lifted the ring, running his fingers over it. “This ring belonged to my grandfather and was passed on to my father, who passed it on to me shortly before he went missing.” He gave a low chuckle. “It is hardly a typical courtship gift but you are hardly a typical Hobbit.” He settled it again and put his arms around her once more. “The exchanging of courtship tokens does not guarantee marriage,” he explained. “If you change your mind you are free to do so at any time. It merely shows an intent that I would like to explore the possibility if you are willing.”

The fact that he could back out comforted her. After all it was one thing to profess he liked her enough to want to court her in the darkness of a tunnel with his entire life falling down around him. It would be another thing entirely once they left when he could very possibly find his people willing to forgive him. As far as he knew, word could come the dragon was indeed dead and he would set off once more to reclaim his home and restore whatever honor he thought he’d lost. He asked her now, and not before, no doubt because he felt she was all he had left. She was sure he cared for her, maybe even loved her, but she doubted very much someone like him could ever be IN love with someone like her.

If she had any honor herself she would refuse him on the spot and give him time to realize how utterly inappropriate a choice she would be for him. She would point out he was only saying these things because he feared exile and facing life alone and desperately wanted to hang on to the only person he thought he had left, the only one he thought would accept him.

But she was in love and probably a little bit selfish if she was honest with herself, and didn’t want to be alone any more than he did.

“I will,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her again and it felt amazing and she probably should have known better than to let fantasy and reality bleed together but she was in a cave and it was dark and the sun and Shire seemed very far way and in a different life all together and for just this one second, this one moment in time fate was seeing fit to give her what she wanted and she would be content with it.

She found herself moving until she was kneeling between his legs, her body flush against his. She felt like she was on fire, heat coursing through her veins and, for a brief second, again heard the shrill voice of Lobelia screeching in her head. She ruthlessly shut the voice down. She would stop soon enough she told herself but, for now, it felt amazing and Thorin wanted to COURT her and before everything came crashing down, as it invariably seemed to do, she was going to relax and enjoy it.

And so she did.

 

******************************************************************************

 

Fate had not seen fit to travel in the direction Thorin thought it would.

He had thought to travel to Erebor with his nephews, his closest friends and family and reclaim the Arkenstone.

He’d thought to carry it back in triumph, to shake it in the face of all those who’d doubted him. Then march back with them to face the dragon and take back their home.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined fate presenting him with a spitfire in the shape of a small Hobbit. Never had he imagined he would wake up in Rivendell to the realization the feelings he had toward her were stronger than he had anticipated or that they would only continue to deepen the further they got from Rivendell, no matter how hard he tried to quash them.

After all, it was a match that could never be.

She was in love with the Shire. She would never be happy living under stone.

He, in turn, had his duty and obligations to his people and to Erebor. If his wildest dreams came true and they reclaimed Erebor he would be caught up in rebuilding, bringing his people home, re-forging old alliances and negotiating new ones. There would be no time for relationships with anyone, let alone someone who deserved so much as Bilba did.

She was fire and light and life in the midst of darkness and having her by his side would be an honor he could never deserve if he lived a thousand lifetimes.

She’d called him back from the desolate wasteland he’d been cast into after watching his Company and nephews fall and even after kept him anchored when all he wanted to do was lay down and wait for death to claim him.

He’d almost let the idea of officially offering courtship pass by. She didn’t deserve to be tied to someone like him. There was no greater failure, no greater disgrace than a king who had lost both his kingdom and his people. He possessed not a shred of honor and perhaps that, in the end, was part of the reason he had asked her.

She had offered him kindness and care and a home when all he deserved was to be cast to the side of the road like the mongrel he was.

He couldn’t name the precise moment when it happened. From the time he realized what he was starting to feel in Rivendell to this precise moment he couldn’t say for sure when the feeling had changed over but he COULD say for sure that it had.

He was in love with her.

He wasn't sure if she loved him back or if she simply loved him the same way she'd loved his nephews and the entire Company and now mistook that love for a stronger emotion given he was all she had left of them.

And so he called it simply courtship and promised she could break it off if she chose but he knew that, for him at least, it would never be over.

She was his One even if she chose not to stay with him, and he would live as long as she did, even apart, because she was the only thing worth living for.

He had thought her short lifespan a deterrent to a relationship, not wanting to face centuries alone without her.

Now he felt it a blessing, for he had no intention of living life after her.

They would lay down together at the end of the long road and, together, walk into the halls of eternity.

And, there, with her by his side he would fall to his knees and beg forgiveness from the ones he had failed.

And, perhaps, with Bilba, so beloved of his Company and deservedly so, by his side they would forgive him.

In his arms Bilba pressed upward, shifting until she was kneeling between his legs. He pulled her in closer, fire hotter than a forge moving through him. He shifted one hand up to her back while he moved the other to intertwine his fingers with hers, marveling that fate had seen fit to let him so much as stand in the presence of one he could never hope to be the equal of.

It was far more than he deserved.


	28. Chapter 28

Bilba had a sneaking suspicion they were lost.

Granted, it wasn’t as though she could see anything to know for sure but, still, some of the twists and turns they were making felt awfully familiar.

She didn’t have a ton of experience in running around under mountains, however, so she could be wrong.

But she didn’t think she was.

She’d never asked how the whole dwarf ability to find the way to the surface thing worked. Was it a clear direction or more of a general sense?

Her mind went back to Thorin’s ability to actually get lost in a place as small as Hobbiton, TWICE, and she sighed. They might be in the mountain a long time at this rate.

She opened her mouth a few times to ask him but immediately closed it again as her face heated. They hadn’t spoken since…IT happened…and now the silence had dragged on so long it was AWKWARD, so painfully, painfully awkward.

What in the world had she been THINKING?

She could hear Priscilla now……no, scratch that, she could hear POPPY, which was a thousand times worse. She could just picture the other woman, her face twisted in a sneer, her syrupy high pitched voice, her stupid perfect curls and that dumb umbrella she always insisted on carrying perched over her head.

_“What’s wrong, Bilba? Finally figured out no man would ACTUALLY want you so you waited till you found one at his lowest and took advantage of his weakened emotional state?”_

Bilba frowned, that wasn’t exactly right. She was pretty sure Poppy wouldn’t know words like weakened emotional state, much less be able to use them correctly in a sentence.

Much-Smarter-Than-She-Really-Was Poppy in her head had a point though.

Thorin’s ring lay like a weight under her shirt. It bounced lightly against her breastbone as they walked and brought a pang of guilt every time it touched her skin.

Should she return it? Return it and apologize for her actions?

Her face went white hot as she remembered those “actions”. To think she’d never even been kissed before leaving the Shire. She'd certainly come a long way since then.

Now she really could hear Priscilla’s voice…and that wretched Lobelia. How many times had Priscilla spoken to her about chaperones and never being alone with a male, particularly one she was interested in?

_“Remember, your emotions can get the best of you and you may end up doing something you regret later.”_

Perhaps Priscilla should have clarified; she and/or the guy she was with might do something they’d later regret.

And Lobelia, wrenching her by the arm any time she caught Bilba anywhere near a young boy, particularly as she’d entered her tweens, and hauling her off for a lecture.

_“If you keep this up you’ll be no better off than your mother! Everyone knows what SHE was really up to, gallivanting off on her so-called ‘adventures’ with that wizard. Leaving you and your poor father here all alone.”_

Though Lobelia’s lectures were usually more an attack on her mother than anything else she usually repeated many of the things Priscilla did about being sure she was chaperoned.

She’d brushed them all off of course. Her emotions wouldn’t get the best of her, she could control herself thank you very much.

Her shoulders slumped.

 _Way to control yourself, Bilba,_ her mind sneered. She remembered how she’d practically thrown herself at Fram, stalking him and desperately trying to impress him. Hadn’t she JUST made the commitment to not be that person anymore? To no longer be pathetic but instead strong and capable?

And then poor Thorin, trying to work through the loss of the Company, the failure of the quest and the potential of being exiled, had mentioned her mistake over the braids and she immediately threw herself at him.

He probably offered the courtship because he felt obligated, especially after she'd offered him a place to live.

 _But you offered to let him take it back,_ a voice in her mind supplied. _You gave him an out and he refused. He said he wanted to keep the braids._

That was true, but he hadn’t exactly been in a great state of mind, had he? And, besides, he was honorable. He felt obligated. Stupid dwarves and their stupid honor codes.

It wasn’t like he was in love with her. He’d barely paid any attention to her before the whole fall into the giant-cave-with-yet-another-creature-that-tried-to-eat-them thing. They’d talked a few times, sure, but he’d never shown the slightest hint he was attracted to her.

Bilba sighed again, one hand going up to clutch the ring where it lay under her shirt.

“Are you all right?”

Bilba flinched in surprise, she’d been so deep in thought she had almost forgotten Thorin was right there. How many times had she sighed?

She turned to face him and opened her mouth to answer, only to stop in surprise.

“I can see your face!” she exclaimed in excitement. Granted, it was dim, barely an outline, but it was definitely there. Even as she thought it her mind happily supplied her with images of what his beard felt like against her face, the press of his lips against hers….

Gah, she was going to DIE of embarrassment, simply DIE.

Thorin, the jerk, seemed entirely unaffected. He’d stopped in the middle of the tunnel, his hand still intertwined with hers as he guided them out…or deeper in and then back out, who knew for sure?

“We’re almost to the exit,” he said, “it won’t be much longer.”

That was good. They’d been traveling steadily up for quite a while and the strain of it was getting to her.

“Do you need to rest?”

“No,” Bilba said immediately, “I just want to get out of this mountain before something else shows up to eat us.”

Thorin chuckled and began walking again. Almost idly he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her away from an outcropping even though she could make it out for herself.

“Have you noticed just how many things in Middle Earth want to eat us?” Bilba continued. “Trolls, Orcs, Goblins, Wargs, that whatever-it-was back in the cavern. I’ve even heard tales of giant spiders in various areas of the world that, I’m sure, if given the chance would also try to eat us.”

She was babbling like an idiot. Her mind kept begging her mouth to shut up but she seemed unable to stop now that the ice had been broken.

"This never happened before I left the Shire, you know. Only since I met you."

He looked at her and she pretended to turn her face away in a huff, hiding the heat radiating off of it.

"Are you actually blaming me?"

"It only seems to happen when you're around!" She glowered. "Honestly, though, what IS with the constant threat of being eaten?"

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Thorin said, “though you do have a point.” He was silent for a second and then said, “you forgot Smaug, he would undoubtedly have tried to eat us as well.”

“And that tells you something right there,” Bilba said. “The fact that he he didn’t even make my top ten list of things that want to eat us.”

Mentally she smacked herself. Way to go, forgetting about a DRAGON of all things. Well, at least that was one thing they wouldn’t have to face anymore. It was beginning to feel like she was on the Middle Earth Tour of Things that Eat Hobbits and Dwarves.

It wasn’t an exceptionally fun tour; she doubted she’d recommend it once she got back home.

A faint odor hit her nostrils and she frowned, trying to place it.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin said.

They continued and the smell slowly grew stronger. It was acrid and Bilba’s eyes began to water, while her throat felt dry and breathing became harder.

“Smoke,” she said finally, “there must be a fire.”

Thorin only grunted in reply. They were close enough to the surface that she could see him clearly. His face was blank but his brow creased as he strained to see what it was they would be walking into.

Smoke was beginning to drift in, creating a hazy look in the tunnel.

They rounded a corner and there, about fifteen feet ahead, bright light spilled through an opening in the rock. Bilba shut her eyes as the light seared them, waiting for them to adjust. Thorin stopped as well, waiting for her or perhaps he needed time for his own eyes.

When she finally opened them again the light didn’t seem quite so bright and she could make out smoke drifting in and, beyond that, sheets of rain, the rock and ground outside drenched.

“Perhaps the rain put the fire out,” she said.

“Perhaps,” Thorin said. “Though fate does not seem to be in our favor of late.”

He had an excellent point. Bilba started to move forward, planning to head out and see where they were, but Thorin didn’t let go of her hand. Instead he tightened his grip slightly and pulled her back close to his side. Then, with his other hand, he drew his sword and crouched down slightly.

Bilba drew her own sword and got an amused look from him. She rolled her eyes back at him in reply.

They approached the exit together.

The fire had been massive. All Bilba could see for miles was scorched earth and blackened trees. In various spots she could see the flicker of flame as the fire continued to stubbornly burn in spite of the torrential rain.

“That was some fire,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I wonder what started it.”

“Lightning I would guess,” Thorin said, his voice equally low. “We’re fortunate to have been inside the mountain at the time.

Bilba gave him a sidelong look. Was he congratulating himself on his horrible sense of direction?

Thorin stood up and let go of her hand, stepping outside. Bilba followed, grimacing as cold rain immediately lashed her, soaking her in seconds. Her clothing stuck to her body and her hair was plastered to her head. She no doubt looked like a drowned rat.

Thorin, naturally, looked even more attractive soaking wet than he did dry, a fact Bilba found patently unfair.

He turned to say something to her and stumbled, his words tripping over one another.

Bilba raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Nothing,” he said, his eyes turning away from her, his voice gruff, “we should go.”

Great, she really had made it awkward. Bilba glanced down and noticed, due to the rain, her shirt had stuck to her body enough to make the ring clearly visible under it. She pulled her coat around her as best she could and buttoned it up, hiding the ring. Thorin had probably seen it and remembered his mistake in giving it to her. She should just give it back immediately but things were already so awkward she couldn’t bring herself to make it worse.

They were quite high on the side of the mountain, the ground sloping away from them in a steep grade.

“Do you think there might be a mudslide?” Bilba asked. “Because of the fire?”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “We should get down as quickly as possible.”

Not comforting. Given the height they were they wouldn’t be getting down anytime soon. She nodded and they began to move. As they did Bilba studied the areas the fire had burned. It looked like they were near the tip of the fire’s spread; the area they were heading into was scorched in a wider and denser area. As they worked over an outcropping of rock she caught sight of an area much further down where the fire damage seemed to be the worst. As high as they were she could see over the trees and saw the area was centered at the edge of a massive cliff. A number of trees had fallen over and, right at the edge, there was a massive hole as if a tree had been ripped right out of the ground.

She had no idea what could have caused it and put it out of her mind. Thanks to the rain the ground was muddy and slippery, forcing them to walk slowly. Even once the rain, thankfully, slowed to a heavy drizzle the ground remained treacherous. They also had to change direction several times to skirt around areas where the fire still burned.

They’d been walking for over an hour when a flicker of something by her side caught her eye. She looked down and froze.

“Thorin.”

He followed her line of sight and cursed in Khuzdul. Bilba held her blade up, studying the pale blue light racing along the steel.

“Back to the tunnels,” Thorin ordered, “hurry!”

Bilba nodded even as her mind considered the distance they’d covered and came to the conclusion they couldn’t possibly make it back. Together they turned and began scrambling back over the rock they’d just crossed.

They’d almost made it to the top before the howl of a warg cut through the air behind them.

Thorin dragged himself onto the flat area on top and twisted to grab her arm and pull her up. Just as her feet cleared the edge Bilba felt the briefest brush of fur and something sharp scrape against the sole of her foot. Then Thorin had her on top and she turned just in time to see the head of a massive warg vanish as it fell back down out of sight.

Bilba stood up, her eyes wide and breathing ragged. Smoke was still heavy in the area and, with the exertion, her lungs felt tight and her throat burned as she dragged air in.

Several more wargs burst from the undergrowth and these sported orcs riding them. They rode forward and ringed the base of the outcropping they stood on. A few of the wargs tried to leap up but Thorin slashed at them with his sword and the creatures fell back with shrieks of anger and pain.

The orcs laughed, taunting them in Black Speech and Bilba felt her blood run cold. They were outnumbered. Even if they could kill the orcs they would still have the wargs to deal with and there was no way the two of them could kill them all.

She reached a hand up to grab the ring under her shirt, her other hand clutching the hilt of her sword.

She should have known there was no way they’d make it back home.

The orcs fell silent suddenly; the wargs moving back to crouch near the ones with riders.

Another warg appeared near the back of the group, massive and solid white. The orc that rode it was also white, his body rent with old scars and wounds. One arm ended at the elbow and had been replaced with a long metal spike with a claw at the end of it.

Bilba frowned, something about him seemed familiar.

Next to her, Thorin had gone completely still, his eyes wide with horror.

“Azog,” he whispered, “it cannot be.”

Azog? The name sparked a memory. Balin and a tale of death and destruction. The loss of a father, brother, grandfather and countless more. Her eyes went to the pale orc as he drew nearer.

“Azog?” she said. “THAT Azog? I thought he was dead.”

Thorin didn’t respond. He might as well have transformed back into the stone he’d been carved from.

Azog stopped in the center of the orc pack, smirking at them. He’d approached at an odd angle, Bilba noted absently, and even then kept himself and his warg turned slightly so they couldn’t see his left side. Was he injured?

“ **Thorin** ,” he snarled in Black Speech, “ **I thought I smelled Durin filth. The dwarf-scum you traveled with have abandoned you. They know better than to get between me and my prey.** ”

Bilba’s eyes narrowed. She thought back to the orcs that had chased them to Rivendell. Thorin had brushed them off as a random occurrence, a danger that came from traveling in the wild. Now, however, it would appear the attack might not have been so random at all.

“ **They did not abandon us** ,” she snarled back, also in Black Speech. “ **They fell and, even in death, are a thousand times better than a dung heap like you**.”

Thorin gave a slight twitch next to her but was still not responding. He seemed to almost be in a trance, his eyes fixed on Azog, hand twisting on the hilt of his sword.

Azog studied her, his eyes amused. “ **Indeed** ,” he growled, “ **they did fall, after I drove them from a cliff. No doubt they fled from Durin’s blood after realizing his incompetence in battle**.” He cocked his head, looking at her. “ **What are you supposed to be? A pet he picked up along the road?** ”

“ **Better a pet than a cockroach** ,” Bilba muttered absently. Her mind swirled at his words, what did he mean he drove them off a cliff? As Azog had spoken the taunt he’d looked over his shoulder, the direction he’d come from, toward that cliff where she thought the fire had started. Where several trees were knocked over and one appeared to be missing all together, as though a great battle had been fought.

Could it be possible? Could fate truly have been so cruel?

“ **I thought you said they abandoned us?** ” She said, refocusing her attention on Azog. “ **How can that be if you drove them off a cliff? You speak in riddles, O great Defiler. One would almost suspect you of having Elf blood.** ”

The reaction was immediate. Azog roared in rage. Around him the other orcs and wargs cowered away though some of them also began yelling in anger.

Beside her, Thorin finally stirred, shaking out of the trance he’d been in.

“What did you say to him?”

“I may have called him an Elf half-breed,” Bilba said.

Thorin looked startled. “Why?”

She almost didn’t tell him. Azog could be lying.

Worse, Azog could be telling the truth.

To think, if any of them had survived, only to be killed by Azog.....her heart wrenched in her chest, so hard it brought physical pain.

Thorin would never forgive her for not telling him and she'd never be able to keep it from him. He'd mention the others and see the truth in her eyes, there was no possible way to hide it.  

So she told him what Azog had said.

It the end, she should have lied.

Thorin's eyes went so hard they could have been cut glass and darkened to a near black. His breathing, already harsh due to the smoke, grew even more ragged and a tremor wracked his body.

Azog snarled. “ **Did you tell him, little pet? What I did to those foolish enough to follow him? How I crushed their bones and tasted their flesh?** ”

Bilba's head snapped back toward him, a cruel hope stirring inside her. He was most likely lying completely but...still...her eyes went to the cliff and she wanted to scream from the horror of ignorance.

“What did he say?” Thorin growled. His hand was clenched so tight on the hilt of his sword, the knuckles were white and his eyes were narrowed to slits.

Bilba translated, ending with “he changed his story, Thorin. I think he's lying.”

Or he'd been telling the truth and embellished it on the second telling..............................................or he was telling the truth both times.

Azog laughed at her and Bilba shivered.

“ **You think I’m lying, little pet?** ”

Bilba felt her eyes widen, she hadn’t known he could speak Common.

Azog reached behind him on the warg, grabbed something and threw it forward on the ground in the center of the group.

Bilba stared at it, her mind struggling to comprehend the broken bits of metal and wood, the shredded clothing.

Then she caught sight of the long curve of a broken bow and the shade of the beige strips of fur lying on the ground.

Kili’s bow and part of Fili’s coat.

A low moan escaped her and Bilba felt her legs buckle, sending her to her knees. Pain bit through her kneecaps as they impacted the stone but she barely felt it.

Beside her, Thorin roared, a sound of pure fury, hatred and grief. He then proceeded to lunge off the rock, straight at Azog.

Bilba felt her heart STOP in her chest. She shrieked his name and lunged for him, but missed.

In horror she watched as he flew through the air, almost in slow motion, toward the orc and his warg.

Azog smiled.

Bilba’s scream drowned out the sickening crunch as the orc swung his mace, the one he’d held in his other hand and kept hidden the entire time by his warg.

The blow sent Thorin spiraling through the air. He hit the ground hard, his weapon flying off to land several feet away.

The orcs roared in glee.

Bilba scrambled forward, her hands gripping the edges of the stone.

“Thorin!” she screamed. “Get up! GET UP!”

He was trying, but the look in his eyes was dazed and his movements were sluggish. He was acting on instinct; he probably didn’t even know what was going on anymore.

Azog casually urged his warg forward. It knelt and grabbed Thorin in its jaws, lifting him and crunching down on his armor.

Thorin threw his head back and screamed and Bilba screamed with him, her entire body shaking with a mixture of fear…and anger.

Somehow Thorin got a dagger out and stabbed the warg in its snout. It bellowed in pain and flung him away. He slammed into the rock right below Bilba and went still.

Bilba looked down at him and saw his eyes open and locked on her. There was little awareness there and even that was fading quickly.

His lips were moving, no words coming out but she could read what he was trying to say.

Go.

Run.

 

 

 

Leave me.

 

 

 

“No,” Bilba whispered. An odd calm settled over her. The anger and fear washed away and peace settled on her. She felt her heart and breathing slow to a steady pace.

She smiled down at him and saw his eyes widen in horror even as the last bits of his consciousness slipped away.

“No,” Bilba repeated, though he could no longer hear her. “Never again.”

Azog was moving forward again, intent on finishing Thorin.

Bilba clutched her sword firmly, held her arms out slightly to both sides, and stepped off the rock.

She hit the ground hard, the impact vibrating up her legs and forcing her into a momentary crouched.

Azog stopped as Bilba straightened, her body between him and Thorin. She held her head high, a smile still on her lips.

“ **What do you think you will do, little pet?** ” Azog hissed. “ **Do you think to challenge me?** ”

The orcs laughed.

Bilba threw her head back, a breeze whipping the strands around her face. Smoke swirled around her body and a fire with no outward source flickered in her eyes.

“ **I do** ,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “ **I challenge you, coward. Fight me!** ” She crouched, bringing her sword in front of her and clasped it in both hands.

She sneered at him, drawing her lips back over her teeth.

“ **Fight me, you half breed child of an Elf, or are you too afraid?** ”


	29. Chapter 29

Bilba wasn’t so delusional as to believe she actually had a chance in a fight with Azog. The orc was more than twice her size, better trained and more experienced. Even if she could block a blow from him, which she doubted given her current level of training, the sheer power his body could generate in a swing would undoubtedly knock her sword from her hands at best and shatter her arms at worst.

Fortunately he was an orc and, as such, she felt zero compunction to fight fair.

Azog was still wasting time mocking her while the other orcs were laughing. Bilba grinned at him.

“ **What’s wrong? Scared to get down and face me? Are you trying to play for time while you think of a way to get out of fighting me?** ”

Several of the other orcs stopped laughing and gave Azog an appraising look. In orc culture the name of the game was very much survival of the fittest. If those who followed him thought Azog was scared to fight he wouldn’t last long in his current position.

Azog went silent, his eyes narrowing in rage. He swung a leg over the warg and dropped to the ground with a thunk.

Bilba felt her heart speed up. Her hands shook lightly as they clutched her sword and she struggled to keep the fear from showing on her face.

Now would be an exceptionally good time for Thorin to wake up and take over but she already knew that wouldn’t be happening. The form behind her was still and at least a part of her worried over that. Was he even still breathing?

Please let him still be breathing.

Azog stepped forward, lifting the giant mace. Was it really necessary to have a weapon that large? A mace half the size would be just as effective and far less intimidating.

Memory flashed through her mind of the weapon connecting with Thorin, of his body sailing through the air to hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Bilba took a deep, steadying breath.

She shifted her hands, moving the ring tucked in her palm to her fingers.

She slid it onto the finger of her left hand.

Immediately the world faded to a dull, feathery gray.

Azog paused, his arm still raised, a look of confusion crossing his face. The other orcs all erupted in a chorus of shouts and equal befuddlement.

Bilba knew it would only last a second.

She crouched and darted forward.

Azog’s arm was still raised and she ducked under it, raised her sword….and drove it straight into his stomach.

Blood sprayed in her face and the orc screamed in rage and pain. Even invisible he knew there was a blade in his stomach and, as such, had a general idea of where she was. Before she could move, a hand fisted in her hair and the back of her clothing.

A moment later she was flying through the air. She barely managed to keep hold of her sword, ripping it from his stomach as he threw her.

She slammed into his warg, the impact jarring her. She hit the ground with a thud and twisted onto her back, driving her sword up and into the creature’s throat. It roared and went down, next to where Azog now lay on the ground roaring in pain and holding the wound in his stomach.

Bilba struggled to her feet, still gripping her sword. Heat rushed through her, sweat gathering on her brow and her breath came in great heaving gasps. Blood stained her arms and chest, splattered in a fine mist over her face. Her hand, where it grasped the hilt of her sword, trembled.

The other orcs were still in the same spots, gaping. Azog roared for them to help him but, for the moment, they were too stunned to move.

Again, Bilba took advantage. She lunged at the nearest orc and warg. Her sword went deep into the warg’s eye socket, then she spun and drove the sword into the orc’s leg.

As it went down she drove the blade into its chest and then out again. Her arms were already aching but she didn’t dare stop.

She took down two more wargs and another orc before the threat of imminent death woke the rest from their stupor.

The battle that followed would be remembered as the hardest Bilba ever fought.

Half the remaining orcs went to Azog, lifting him up and removing him from the battle all together. Bilba had no choice but to let them go. The remaining orcs still had her hemmed against the mountainside. In such close quarters invisibility only did so much. She risked bumping into them at every move and all it would take was one of them catching hold of her for it to all be over.

She darted and rolled, throwing herself between the legs of one orc and rolling to slash at its ankles as she came back up. Grit and debris from the fire abraded her skin and opened up burning spots of pain on her legs and arms where she’d been scratched or cut. Smoke still clogged her throat forcing her lungs to work even harder to try and provide her enough oxygen to fight.

Her chest heaved and it was a struggle to keep her sword up.

The clearing was littered with dead and dying orcs and wargs but at least four were still on their feet.

For the first time it seemed to occur to their small brains that Thorin was fully visible and completely vulnerable. Two of them lunged toward him and Bilba cursed, racing to block them. She physically slammed against one of them while slashing her sword across the face of the other.

Arms closed around her from the back and she screamed as an orc lifted her up. She reached a hand behind her and found the creature’s face, located its eyes and drove her fingers in.

It shrieked and threw her. She slammed into the ground and rolled up against Thorin’s prone body.

She started to get up and froze. Around her the world was sharp and in focus and there was only one way that could be.

She was no longer wearing the ring.

The orcs grinned. One of them bent to pick something up and when it straightened it was holding her sword. She hadn’t been aware she’d lost it.

Bilba pulled herself up and pressed back against Thorin’s side, wrapping an arm across his chest.

Now would be a REALLY good time for him to wake up.

His eyes stayed closed, however, his features slack.

The orcs were no longer in a rush now that they had her defenseless and visible. The one holding her sword twirled it in one hand, giving her an appraising look.

Bilba felt bile rise in her throat even as her stomach clenched in fear. She pulled her feet in along Thorin’s side; her entire body pressed against his. She cast around frantically for the ring but saw no sign of it.

How had it even fallen off? It had fit her hand perfectly.

One of the orcs stepped forward and she barely suppressed a whimper.

_Call your friends._

Bilba blinked as the voice sounded in her head. It was vaguely familiar, as though she’d heard it before, but she couldn’t imagine when or where.

 _Call your friends_ , the voice repeated. _They would not have left you._

They didn’t have a choice, Bilba thought desperately. They fell or were taken by goblins. Even if Azog HAD seen them, and not just robbed their corpses, something she didn’t even want to imagine; he claimed to have driven them over a cliff.

_And you believed him?_

She didn’t know what to believe. She WANTED them to be all right, of course she did, but, regardless of the how, the end result was the same.

All of them were gone.

_So what do you have to lose?_

That was true enough.

The orc stepped closer, one hand idly playing with the blade and point of her sword. They were clearly enjoying her fear.

“Dwalin!”

Her shout was quiet, even to her own ears and the voice in her head spoke again, annoyed.

_Is that the best you can do? CALL THEM!_

“DWALIN!” The name echoed over the mountain and the orcs stiffened, two of them looking over their shoulders to see who it was she was summoning.

No one came.

Bilba shivered. The adrenaline that had seen her through the fight was fading and now the exhaustion was creeping in. A thousand cuts, bruises and scrapes were making themselves known and blackness was starting to creep into the corners of her vision.

“Gloin!”

The orcs looked again and, again, no one came.

“Bifur! Bofur! Bombur!”

They laughed at her. The one with her sword said something to the others and turned its attention back to her. She should have been able to understand the words but they seemed unnaturally slow and blurred in her ears. It was getting hard to keep her head up.

The voice demanded she keep trying and Bilba obeyed.

“OIN! BALIN!”

The only sound was that of the orcs cackling at her.

The orc began to raise her sword and Bilba futilely put an arm over her head even as she screamed, “NORI! ORI! DORI!”

It laughed and said something to her. Again she couldn’t understand. It felt as though she were standing farther away than before, watching events as they unfolded.

“KILI!”

Even her own voice sounded dull and flat to her.

The sword began to fall.

One last burst of adrenaline flooded her, snapping everything back into sharp, clear focus.

Bilba let loose a scream from the very depths of her soul, anger, pain, despair and loss all wrapped into it.

She closed her eyes and threw herself over Thorin, burying her face against his chest as she waited for the blow to fall.

It didn’t.

Instead she heard a roar of pure rage, pounding footsteps and the loud clang of metal on metal.

Bilba struggled to raise her head but the adrenaline was already gone and her own consciousness was quickly fading to join Thorin wherever he was.

She managed to turn her head to the side, her eyes flickering open to slits. She could make out shapes, far more than had been there previously and she wondered if Azog had come back.

A distant thumping sound registered in her mind and she realized it was Thorin’s heartbeat, pounding against her ear. His chest was also rising and falling she realized dimly and felt gratitude that at least she hadn’t defended him in vain.

Everything was growing dark. She could feel her body relaxing, every muscle loosening and allowing her to sink against Thorin even more.

She could hear the faint sound of voices though she had no idea what they were saying.

Dimly she saw boots approaching.

Someone knelt next to her and she felt a hand on her head. She expected pain but instead the hand stroked gently through her hair. A voice spoke but it was muffled and seemed to come from so very far away.

Bilba struggled to push the darkness back.

Her eyes were nearly closed and no amount of effort could open them again. She struggled to move them anyway, traveling past a pair of boots, up trouser clad legs, past the leather overcoat and on to the face.

A vague impression of blonde hair and crystal blue eyes registered dimly in her mind and the slow smile that split her face could have rivaled the sun in its brilliance.

Calling forth all the strength she had left, Bilba lifted a hand to slide along the face of the figure kneeling over her.

“Fili.”

Her voice was barely a whisper but she thought she saw him smile in return. His lips moved but she was already past hearing.

The black rushed in, her eyes closed and her hand fell limp.

Her smile, however, remained.


	30. Chapter 30

_She stood in a barren wasteland in the midst of a starless night. Around her a violent wind blew, bringing with it a deep cold._

_In the far off distance she could make out the barest flicker of a light. At first she thought it was a star but then realized it was shades of red and orange instead of brilliant white._

_A fire._

_A strange muttering reached her ears. She cast about for its source and soon realized it came from near her feet._

_She looked and saw a bright spark winking near her right foot._

_It was WHISPERING._

_Fear gripped her, though she didn’t know why. She looked up and knew, without a doubt, the spark was calling to the fire._

_And she knew just as surely it was vitally important the fire never heard._

_Too late._

_The fire was coming, growing larger and larger._

_She fell to the ground, throwing her body over the spark._

_A roar and cracking thrummed through the air. Intense heat washed over her, blistering her skin. White hot agony ripped through her and she screamed. She looked up and felt as though her eyes would melt out of her skull._

_A massive wheel of fire stood almost directly on top of her. In the center an area of deepest black seemed to bore into her very soul._

**_I SEE YOU_ ** _._

_She shrieked again turning to throw herself back over the spark._

_Only now the spark was gone._

_Instead she found herself lying across a prone body. Her hands met a chest and then fell IN. Wetness spread across her arms and chest, slippery, soft objects bumping across her hands._

_She gagged, struggling back, and automatically looked up toward the head._

_Dead eyes gazed at her in horror, a mouth open in a scream that could no longer be heard._

_Thorin._

_She screamed, sobbing and scrambled backward, only to trip across another form._

_She raised her eyes, trembling, and the ground around her was no long empty._

_In a spiraling arc, with her as the center point, lay the sprawled corpses of her friends._

_She spotted Kili, his eyes fixed over his head and Fili flung over him as though he’d died trying to protect him._

_The Ri brothers, or what was left of them, Balin collapsed near his own brother._

_The rest._

_Even Gandalf, seated with his back against something she couldn’t make out in the dark, his eyes open and sightless._

_She screamed again, the sound closer to that of a wounded animal than a person._

_Overhead the fire laughed and drew closer, the heat so intense she felt she would disintegrate before it._

_Without warning a brilliant, blistering white light flooded the scene._

_The fire and the whispering both paused._

_She raised a hand to shield her eyes, gazing behind her to a point in the distance the light seemed to emanate from._

_Two forms strode forth._

_As they drew nearer she made out the shine of armor, the glint off the swords both carried. They walked with the easy cocksure gait of the young, those who had not yet realized they could die. One of them walked slightly in front of the other, protective, and, for a second, she thought she was looking at Fili and Kili._

_Then her eyes went back to the bodies around her, to where Fili and Kili lay still and unmoving._

_The two from the light were nearer now. The one in front stepped up confidently, raising his sword to meet the fire head on. She studied his back, slimmer than Fili or Kili, up to his hair, several shades lighter than Kili’s dark locks._

_The second figure knelt beside her. His features were shrouded in shadow, hidden from her no matter how hard she strained to see._

_He held a hand out and, somehow, though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was smiling in reassurance._

_Warmth flooded her, the fear receding. Around her the scene faded, the bodies drifting apart and vanishing like smoke. The spark stopped its whispering and the wheel of fire faded with a roar of rage._

_The wind fell silent._

_She held her hand out, no longer covered in gore, and the figure grabbed it and pulled her easily to her feet._

_The first figure turned from where he had faced the fire. She couldn’t see his face either and felt sorrow at being unable to identify her saviors._

_He reached out, a hand coming to gently caress her face._

_“It doesn’t have to be this way.”_

_“I don’t understand,” she whispered, even as she lifted her hand to cover his. “How do I change it?”_

_Movement and the figure who'd helped her up leaned in close to her ear. She could feel his lips moving but couldn’t make out what he said._

_He moved away._

_“Wait,” She said, stepping forward. “I didn’t hear you!”_

_Both of them were leaving now, striding back into the light._

_A voice sounded._

**_It’s time to wake up._ **

_“No!” She shouted. “I didn’t hear you! Wait!”_

**_Wake up._ **

_“Please! Come back! I didn’t hear!”_

_**Bilba**._

_“Come back!”_

“Wake up.”

Bilba’s eyes snapped open and she gasped, her back arching to suck in oxygen.

Already the dream was fading and she frantically tried to get it back. It felt like grasping at fog, the shreds slipping through her grip as quickly as she tried to grab them.

A shadow leaned over her.

“Easy, Lass, you’re safe now.”

Bilba’s eyes locked onto the shadow and she found herself looking at the tired and battered but ALIVE face of Dwalin.

Her lower lip began to tremble.

She lifted a hand but hesitated before touching him, afraid he would simply vanish.

He reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip warm and very real.

The dam broke.

Bilba lunged, finding the strength from somewhere, and physically tackled him. Off balance as he was kneeling beside her the unexpected attack sent him flying backward.

One arm closed around her, shielding her, and then he was lying flat on his back with her on top of him, hugging him as hard as possible while tears tracked unchecked down her face.

Laughter caught her attention and she lifted her head and, for a moment, truly believed she’d died and gone to the afterlife.

Because there was Balin, worn and leaning on a makeshift crutch.

There were Dori, Nori and Ori, sporting cuts and scratches, missing their armor and weapons.

There was Bombur, favoring an arm, Bifur with a large gash across his face and Bofur missing his hat.

There were Oin and Gloin, bruised and gathered around Thorin where he still lay unconscious on the ground.

There was Kili, uninjured, attempting to fix his broken bow. Over him stood Fili, his expression amused as he watched his brother curse and struggle to put the pieces back together.

Things kind of turned into a blur after that.

Bilba couldn’t seem to stop crying no matter what she did.

She also couldn’t seem to stop hugging dwarves.

It didn’t matter who it was, the second they got into range she latched onto them. Some of them, like Nori or the Pretty Twins, grabbed her back and swung her through the air. Others like Dwalin or Gloin hugged her back awkwardly and carefully while others, like Dori or Bofur, hugged her back easily like a long lost friend found again.

Eventually Bilba found herself happily settled on Kili’s lap listening to his heartbeat while she watched the others move about the clearing. They couldn’t move until Thorin woke up so the others were burning the orc and warg corpses and wasn’t THAT a smell she never wanted to experience again?

Over her head Kili was giving a desperate look for help to his brother, who was pointedly ignoring him. After all Kili had only wound up in the position, for the last hour and a half, after coming over to save his brother from a similar fate.

It was his own fault, Bilba decided, for getting in range.

Across the clearing she saw Dwalin speaking to a tall man cloaked in brown. When she’d first caught sight of him shortly after waking up she’d assumed Gandalf had come back and decided on a new favorite color in the meantime.

Now, however, as she studied him closer she could see she was wrong. The man was shorter than Gandalf and leaner, his hair and his beard had more brown than gray. He wore the same robes and hat as Gandalf, leading to her confusion, but they were a deep brown color. He also carried a staff but it too was different, thicker and carved with images of animals and plants, topped with a green crystal.

“Who is that?”

“Radagast the Brown,” Kili answered. “He says Gandalf sent him, he’s the reason Dwalin, Nori, Ori and Dori made it out of the goblin caves.”

Bilba leaned her head back to stare up at him. “How did you make it?”

Kili grinned at her. “Because we’re dwarves of course! It would take a lot more than that fall to kill us!”

He sounded like his uncle. His stupid, stupid, stupid uncle who would be getting an earful the second he woke up. She had a vague impulse to slap Kili in an effort to knock Thorin's clearly bad influence out of him but managed to restrain herself.

Someone snorted and she looked to see Fili dropping beside her. She happily transferred from Kili to Fili, allowing the former to get up and try to regain feeling in his legs.

“What he means to say,” Fili said dryly, “is the giant didn’t break apart on impact. We were thrown when it hit but the fall wasn’t far and there were no large boulders or debris to worry about. It looked far worse than it was.”

Bilba shuddered; she knew how bad it looked.

Fili’s arms tightened around her. “Kili lost his bow in the fall and my jacket was torn. Azog and the rest were apparently traveling along the valley floor; they must have come upon it later and picked them up.”

“They didn’t catch you though,” Bilba asked.

Fili’s jaw tightened. “They did. We came up, hoping to find the rest of you. We ran into Dwalin, and the others on the way down. They said they’d been separated from you. We planned to wait but, about that time, we heard the wargs coming up behind us.”

Bilba tensed, her eyes going to the burning pile. No one had asked her what happened or where Azog was for which she was grateful. She didn’t really feel like reliving it at the moment.

Kili took over at that part in the story, explaining how they’d been chased to the edge of a cliff, the very one Bilba had noted as being the start point for the fire. Radagast had apparently done that, taking them up trees and lighting pinecones on fire to throw at the orcs and wargs.

Then Azog had shown up, demanding Thorin. Several of them had been forced to physically hold Dwalin back from charging the orc. Azog in turn had sent his wargs against the trees, uprooting several and forcing the dwarves into one tree at the very edge of the cliff.

It too had begun to fall leading to Radagast summoning his friends, the eagles, to save them from the brink.

“Eagles?” Bilba said, interrupting them. “There were eagles and I missed them?”

Kili rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you latch onto.”

Fili took over. “Anyway, they took us off the cliff but we begged them to bring us back. None of us wanted to leave without you.”

“As far as any of you knew we were dead,” Bilba said in confusion.

“We didn’t care,” Fili said. “Dwalin was ready to tear the mountain apart stone by stone to find the pair of you.”

To find THORIN no doubt, Bilba thought. Had it just been her she highly doubted they would have come back.

“The eagles took us far enough that they could circle back and put us down again without the orcs noticing,” Fili continued. “Once they did we started searching. Eventually we heard you screaming and you know the rest.”

Bilba nodded, remembering the voice in her head. Whatever it had been it had been right, they hadn’t left.

“What about you?” Kili asked. “Dwalin said you and Thorin were lost once you fell into the goblin caves.”

Bilba opened her mouth to reply and immediately closed it again as the memories from the tunnels rushed in. Her face heated and she looked down quickly to hide it. She started to try and talk again, certain her stammering and stuttering would give her embarrassment away, but didn’t get the chance as a roar echoed across the clearing.

Bilba felt her heart jump and jerked around to see Thorin, awake and fighting frantically against the arms trying to hold him down and calm him. Even from that distance Bilba could see his eyes were dazed and unfocused.

“Idiot,” she muttered, “that’s what happens when you jump face first into a mace.”

Fili looked down at her in shock. “He did WHAT?”

Bilba didn’t answer. Instead she scrambled off his lap and half ran, half limped over to his royal highness in exile, Thorin Oakendumb.

Pushing aside Dwalin and Gloin she ducked Thorin's flailing arms, plopped right down on his lap and grabbed his braids in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“THORIN!”

He twitched and then stilled.

Bilba sighed, her annoyance going up.

“Snap out of it,” she ordered, “I need to yell at you and I can’t do it when your brain is scrambled!”

He blinked, awareness returning slowly. His eye focused on her sluggishly but then sharpened.

“Bilba?”

“That’s right,” Bilba said. “Want to tell me what the whole ‘jumping into Azog’s arms’ thing was about? You two have a different relationship than the one I thought you had?”

Over her shoulder Nori and Gloin suddenly had mysterious coughing fits while Dwalin growled, “he did WHAT?”

Thorin looked at them. A look passed over his face for a split second that was so…LOST it instantly made Bilba’s anger fade, replaced with the urge to hug the stubborn, suicidal ass.

Okay, the look MOSTLY made her anger fade.

“I think,” Thorin said slowly, “I must have been struck harder than I thought. My eyes cheat me. That or I still dream.”

Bilba smiled at him. “I’ve begun to believe you have so hard a head that nothing could get through to it.”

Then she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“I'm still angry at you and I owe you a good dressing down for being an idiot and letting a stupid orc get to you but, for now, I'll tell you this. You are not dreaming. Welcome back, Your Majesty.”

She got up and stepped away as Dwalin and Gloin moved in to help him get up.

Then the rest of the Company was gathering around him and Thorin simply stared at them, a look of almost childlike wonder in his eyes.

Then the hugging started.

He didn’t sit on anybody’s lap but Bilba had a feeling that, if he’d had the materials on him, he’d have created chains and tied the lot of them to him the rest of their lives if he could.

Arms slid around her waist from the back and Bilba stiffened, her mind flashing to the orc grabbing her and throwing her.

Then she dropped her head back and saw Nori looming over her. She relaxed, leaning into him. His arms slid tighter around her and he rested his chin on her head, something she allowed ONLY because he’d been kind enough to not be dead.

A different voice spoke. “You must be Miss Baggins. I have heard much about you.”

Radagast drew up next to her, watching the others crowd around Thorin.

“I can only imagine what you’ve heard,” Bilba said dryly.

Radagast chuckled. From the group, Dwalin suddenly gestured for him and the wizard headed over. She saw Dwalin talking, gesturing toward Radagast and then saw Thorin bow low before him, before grabbing his arm and thanking him.

“There’s something I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever see,” Nori said. “Our king bowing before someone else.”

“That’s only because you didn’t see him when he thought he’d lost everything,” Bilba said. “He thought he’d be exiled.”

“Exiled?” Nori said in surprise. He was quiet for a few moments. “I suppose it could be possible. This quest wasn’t exactly sanctioned; it was given as more of a challenge.”

In the group Bilba could now see Thorin casting looks in their direction. She sighed and untangled herself from Nori, nudging him over.

“Go on, can’t you see he wants to see you?”

Nori gave her an amused look. “Is that what he wants?”

He walked over without further comment and Bilba watched them go.

Thorin was happy, happier than she could remember seeing him in the time she’d known him. The years added in the caverns had melted away and already he stood straighter, if gingerly in deference to his injuries, his head held high.

Pain lanced through her heart and Bilba resolutely pushed it aside, lifting her own head high.

Thorin had offered courtship out of obligation and a belief that he had nothing left. Now that he had everything back she had no doubt he’d be rescinding that offer. He was a King after all and Kings did not marry commoners, particularly those outside of their own species who had nothing special of their own to offer back.

He’d never said he loved her, never made any promises and she had no right to expect any.

Her eyes burned but she took a deep breath and drove her nails into her palms, using the pain to ground herself.

She had NO right or cause to feel sorry for herself. By some miracle the Valar had seen fit to give her back the second family she thought she’d lost. She’d been given back the world; she had no right to expect even more.

Sunlight sparked off something in the grass, catching her eye and she stepped over to see the ring lying there winking up at her merrily.

For a brief second cold clutched at her and the world seemed to grow dark.

Then it was past and she frowned, dropping to one knee to pick it up. She studied it, turning it in her hand.

It glittered under the rays of the sun, quiet in her palm.

It was just a ring.

And a useful one at that. Without it she had no doubt she and Thorin would both be dead.

She stood and pocketed it, putting it out of her mind.

She turned, and shrieked as Fili was suddenly there, grabbing her and casually throwing her over one shoulder.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” He said, turning back to the group. “Did you suddenly become anti-social while we were gone?”

“Fili!” Bilba shouted, laughing as she half-heartedly pounded on his back. “I am not a sack of potatoes!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered and then proceeded to ignore her. "Come on, be friends and join the group."

Bilba laughed and allowed him to carry her back to the rest. 

And if her eyes met Thorin’s for a brief second as Fili set her down, and if a shard of pain lanced straight through her heart, well, what of it?

No one ever got everything they wanted.

And she had been given more than most.

To expect anything more would simply be greedy.


	31. Chapter 31

Bilba crouched near Kili, watching him as he continued to try and repair his bow. She felt as badly as he did. She’d come to enjoy archery and had hoped to learn more on their trip.

“Is he still staring at you?” Kili asked in a low whisper.

Bilba risked a look across the clearing to where Radagast was seated huffily on a rock. She hadn’t known there was a way to sit huffily but the wizard had clearly found one.

She rolled her eyes and focused on the bow again. Kili had been the one to drag her away under pretense of helping him. In reality he was apparently convinced she was mere seconds away from being transformed into something…unnatural.

Bilba had asked him what he meant by unnatural but he’d just repeated it in a hushed voice as though she should magically know what it meant.

Seeing as how she was still happy over the not-being-dead thing she let it slide.

Radagast was still glaring off into the distance and, really, did he have to be so thin skinned? All she had done was ask why he couldn’t call the eagles back.

_“They are not pack animals, Miss Baggins.”_

_“I never said they were. I just don’t understand why they can’t come back. They came before.”_

_“That’s because the others were in danger.”_

_“We’re still in danger! The orcs could come back at any minute! I don’t understand why they can’t just come get us and fly us to Erebor like they were planning too.”_

_“They would never have flown us all the way to Erebor, probably only halfway at best.”_

_“……why?”_

_“As I said--”_

_“I got it, they’re not pack animals. Why does flying us halfway make them not pack animals but flying us ALL the way does?”_

_“I believe they wish to avoid humans. They do not wish to endanger themselves.”_

_“…………………….So they flew down onto a cliff with orcs and fire and wargs and attacked them? What if the orcs had archers? Or what if they’d attacked the eagles when they swooped in low to pick up some of the others?”_

By that time Radagast had been turning a rather interesting shade of purple and she’d been dragged away by Kili moments later.

So, in short, she was pretty sure that meant they were walking.

She looked around at the various battered and bruised forms of the dwarves, Balin leaning on his makeshift crutch as though it was all that was keeping him upright and Thorin swaying slightly from side to side as he spoke with Dwalin.

Correction, it meant they would be stumbling, hobbling and limping…slowly…and with frequent pauses.

She sighed and focused back on Kili again. The bow was hopelessly broken so it was an exercise in futility but she could at least give him moral support.

Footsteps crunched across the dirt and Fili knelt on her other side. He raised an eyebrow at her and she shook her head. It was possible they’d have to hold an actual burial for the bow in order to get Kili to let go of it.

Speaking of letting go of things.

“I lost your knife,” she told Fili, “it must have fallen off when we went down the slide thing.”

He shrugged, “no problem.” He shifted, his hand going behind his back. When it came back, he was holding a nearly identical sheath and knife. He grinned at her.

“It was a set.”

He handed it to her and Bilba almost hugged him as she settled it into its place, hooked on her belt behind her back.

“Can we practice more while we travel?” She asked him.

“Of course,” he replied.

He started to say more only to cut off as shadows fell over them.

Bilba looked up to see Thorin and Dwalin standing over them. Both had the oddest expressions on their faces.

“Bilba,” Thorin said slowly, “Dwalin informs me he did not kill the orcs or wargs and he does not know what happened to Azog.”

Bilba gave him an incredulous look. “Why would you think he would know that?”

Thorin frowned. “I lost consciousness. When I regained it they were either dead or gone entirely. I assumed the others had arrived and dealt with them.”

“That would have been nice,” Bilba said, “and awfully convenient.”

Fili and Kili were both staring at her now and Bilba looked back in confusion. “What?”

“When we arrived,” Fili said slowly, “the orcs and wargs were dead--”

“Mostly dead,” Bilba corrected, “some of them got away.”

“Mostly dead,” Fili agreed, his expression disbelieving. “Uncle was unconscious and you were on the ground by his side. We assumed he had killed the creatures and then lost consciousness just before we arrived.”

“Also would have been nice,” Bilba said, “and equally convenient.”

It occurred to her that almost the entire Company was now standing in a loose circle around her, staring at her with various stunned expressions on their faces.

“Bilba,” Thorin said, “what happened to Azog?”

Bilba told him.

After she was finished the dwarves simply stared at her, for a really long time. Even Radagast, who’d come closer as she started talking was simply staring at her.

Thorin finally broke the silence. “You….how did….what--”

“Magic ring,” Bilba said, “remember?”

Radagast frowned, “magic ring?”

“We found it in the caves,” Bilba said, purposefully keeping her mind away from OTHER things that had happened in the caves, “it makes you invisible, comes in handy when getting attacked by orcs.” Her eyes narrowed at Thorin, “speaking of which, I’m STILL mad at you!”

“That’s right,” Fili said, looking at his Uncle. “What was she talking about anyway about you flinging yourself into Azog’s arms?”

Thorin sputtered, his face reddening. “I did NOT throw myself into his arms.”

“Pretty much did,” Bilba said. “It was very sweet, right up until his mace connected with your face. Was that his way of saying he was happy to see you?”

Thorin looked downright apoplectic. Dwalin rounded on him, demanding an explanation and, soon, almost the entire Company was railing at their King over his colossal stupidity.

“Well done,” Kili murmured next to her.

Bilba grinned at him. She’d gotten their attention off her and the ring and gotten Thorin in trouble all at the same time.

Radagast was still studying her, a curious expression on his face, but she ignored him. The ring was hers; he could go find his own.

She refocused on Kili’s bow and pointed out an area where she thought maybe he could salvage some of the wood at least.

The rest of the Company continued to yell at Thorin.

Again. They had already yelled at him over her implying he'd been an idiot. Now that they knew beyond a doubt it was time for round two.

Bilba smiled.

All was right with the world.

 

*                     *                   *

In the end, as she’d suspected, they walked.

Their group was a sorry sight trudging across the landscape. All of them were bruised and battered and a number limped or needed frequent stops.

Dwalin and the Ri’s had lost all of their armor to the goblins, boots included. Dwalin had managed to reclaim his axes and carried them in both hands, refusing to put them down regardless of how heavy they had to have been.

They’d also lost their packs as had Bilba and Thorin. Bilba mourned the loss of her sketchpad and the nearly finished drawing of Fili, not that she’d had any time to work on it, but was doubly glad she hadn’t brought her parent’s rings or Bungo’s doll with her.

The others still had their supplies and packs but much had been lost or damaged in the fall. That slowed them down even more as they had to stop frequently to hunt for food or water.

Bilba had worried they’d show up in Lake-town crawling on their hands and knees but Radagast had announced he had a friend who might be willing to help them. Said friend was at least a three week journey away but at least he would be closer than Lake-town. Thorin wouldn’t even consider the idea of asking the elves in Mirkwood for help.

So they set out.

Bilba found quickly that the dwarves had not been distracted from her actions as much as she’d thought. She soon found herself swamped by every member of the Company, all of whom wanted detailed descriptions of what had happened after she and Thorin had fallen.

 She stumbled over telling it as she found there was little of the experience she WANTED to tell. There was no reason at all, for instance, to describe Thorin’s devastation to his friends and family and she found herself glossing over it and leaving it purposefully vague. When it came to the part where she left she told it as Thorin going with her immediately, taking the lead and guiding her out. As she spoke she caught Thorin studying her, a look of unmistakable gratitude in his eyes. She gave him a slight smile in return and continued, leaving out completely anything…interesting…that happened in the tunnels and simply skipping straight to leaving and running into Azog.

Somewhat to her surprise she found herself at the center of a massive amount of praise and appreciation. Dwalin and Fili immediately started boasting of how she was their student, a fact she was grateful for as she fully intended to continue.

As the praise continued to flow, however, Bilba felt something begin to change inside her. She thought over what she’d done…and felt pride. More than that, however, she felt confidence. It was small, just a spark, but the feeling that spread through her was warm and so much better than the dark thoughts she normally carried about herself.

It was probably that newfound confidence that caused her to make the decision to speak to Thorin as soon as possible, instead of putting it off or letting him come to her as she’d originally planned.

She waited for the evening, after their meager dinner had been eaten and the others were falling asleep. Thorin, as always, took first watch, seating himself under a tree and quickly becoming lost to darkness as night fell.

Bilba huddled near the back, farther from the fire than she’d wished but she hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone. As the day had gone on she’d found her little spark of confidence waxing and waning. It was a new thing after all and very fragile and she had years of negative thoughts and emotions that were more than happy to snuff it out at a moment’s notice.

The others fell asleep slowly. So slowly in fact she half wanted to go yell at them to hurry it up. Finally, however, the last of them slept and there was nothing but the soft snoring and occasional movements as they settled in for the night.

Bilba had her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, fingers digging into her calves.

Okay, Bilba, she told herself. Now is your chance, go talk to him.

She didn’t move.

Come ON, she mentally ordered herself. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Just GO TALK TO HIM.

Still her body stubbornly refused to move, content to sit where it was and absolutely NOT go speak to Thorin Oakenshield for any reason.

It was fortunate, therefore, that he decided to come talk to her.

She saw him the second he stood up and began to move toward her and it was patently unfair that he looked so amazing in firelight, and any other light for that matter. Her stomach began to flutter and Bilbo took a deep breath.

He settled down next to her, his eyes staring out into the fire. It reminded her of the talk they’d had before taking the pass, before everything had gone so utterly wrong.

“I imagine you wish to talk,” Thorin said shortly, his voice low. He continued to look ahead, his hands on his knees. His body was stiff and Bilba wondered if his ribs, cracked after being used as a warg chew toy, pained him.

Bilba steeled herself. She had already decided she would be adult about this, she would.

She reached inside the collar of her jacket and drew out the thick chain with the ring dangling on the end of it. She felt the loss immediately, the ring no longer a solid weight on her breastbone.

“I imagine you want this back.”

She kept her own eyes fixed forward and, as such, it took a few moments to become aware of his gaze boring into the side of her head. She looked and saw him studying her, his eyes unreadable.

“Only if you wish to give it.”

Bilba blinked. She opened her mouth and then closed it as words literally would not come out. Finally she managed a confused, “what?”

He sighed. “I would understand if you did of course. You accepted because of my situation and, now that it’s changed--”

“Wait,” Bilba said, “are you saying you think I accepted out of pity?”

Thorin’s expression went flat though Bilba could see one of his hands clenched into a tight fist on his thigh. “Did you not? You hadn’t thought of me in that sense before that time and then--”

“I thought of you in that sense from the moment I saw you,” Bilba blurted and then immediately flushed in embarrassment, her eyes going to her hands. Thorin went quiet, his entire body still. The only reaction at all was a slight widening of his eyes.

Bilba felt her nerves taking over, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest and she struggled to control it. “I mean I wouldn’t say I was in LOVE with you. I didn’t even know you and you were pretty obnoxious…still are sometimes…”

Thorin made a noise that sounded like a snort and Bilba felt her lips tug in a small smile. “I never saw you in the same light as anyone else though. You always stood apart.”

“As did you,” Thorin said; his voice nearly inaudible. “From the moment you opened your front door. I didn’t realize what it was I was starting to feel, however, until Rivendell--”

“Rivendell?” Bilba said in surprise. “I’m beginning to think you may be a masochist, Thorin Oakenshield. You noticed me when I opened my door, after which I slapped you and then in Rivendell where, if I recall correctly, we had a rather intense disagreement.”

He laughed. It was not something he did often and Bilba felt a warm feeling of happiness spread through her at the sound.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Perhaps it’s simply the fact that you aren’t afraid of me, you call me out on my…obnoxiousness as you say. You challenge me to be better.”

He was quiet another moment and then suddenly turned and leaned into her, bringing his face mere inches from hers.

“Perhaps it is also because you simply see me as Thorin and no one else.”

Bilba gave a small laugh of her own and leaned in the last few inches, resting her forehead against his. “And who else would I see you as if not yourself?”

He kissed her, gently, with none of the desperation or despair from back in the tunnels. Bilba reached up and slid a hand into his hair, pressing into the kiss.

This…this was not what she’d expected.

Bilba broke the kiss first and moved her head back just enough to stare into his eyes.

“I thought…since you hadn’t said anything before…and you thought everyone was dead…and--”

“None of it changed the way I felt,” Thorin said, “rather it just made me more apt to try and seize what I had right in front of me rather than wait and risk it being taken from me.” He looked down. “I felt very--”

“Selfish,” Bilba whispered. “I felt selfish.”

He nodded. “As did I.”

Bilba chewed on her lower lip, considering. “Would you have spoken to me if…all that…hadn’t happened?”

“I do not know,” Thorin responded truthfully. “There are many…difficulties.”

Bilba nodded. She knew it well. Thorin was royalty, she was not. She doubted any relationship between them would be welcomed by anyone outside their Company. Not to mention the complication that they weren’t even the same species.

Then there was the fact she had the Shire and Bag End while he, if successful, would have Erebor. The two locations weren’t exactly close.

“We don’t even know each other outside of this quest,” she said. “Who’s to say we’d even like one another under normal circumstances?”

Thorin’s response was to kiss her again, lightly. “It’s possible,” he agreed.

“And then there’s the fact I couldn’t bear you children,” Bilba said, “I’m a child of Eru. You’re a child of Mahal. You would never have heirs.”

He kissed her again and gave a slight shrug. “I already have heirs. You seem quite fond of them.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. Apparently she wasn’t the only one deliriously happy over the others being alive.

She sighed and looked out over their sleeping forms, her eyes lingering on Balin. He’d lost his wife in Erebor and now faced the rest of his life with no one at his side.

She was young for a Hobbit, only thirty, but, at best, she’d have about seventy years left. Thorin had hundreds left. If he chose her that was it, there would be no one else for as long as he lived.

His eyes followed hers, lingering on the form of his closest advisor.

“Are you sure?” Bilba whispered.

“I am,” he responded, his voice firm.

“We’ll take it slow,” Bilba said, almost to herself. “There’s no rush and the middle of a quest isn’t the best time for a relationship anyway.”

He kissed her again. “Agreed,” his voice rumbled next to her ear and she shivered.

“And we won’t tell the rest of the Company,” Bilba said, “that way, just in case one of us changes their mind--” And by that she meant him because SHE certainly wouldn’t be but she felt it fair to give him the option just in case he still wasn’t fully in his right mind yet, “then we won’t have to deal with any fallout or embarrassment from them knowing.”

Again his lips met hers and she was pretty sure he was trying to distract her. She was also pretty sure he was succeeding quite spectacularly. “Agreed.”

Bilba continued to study the Company, her mind running through the long list of why any sort of romantic relationship with Thorin Oakenshield constituted a Very Bad Idea.

She sighed. “We’re both idiots.”

“Agreed.”

Then he kissed her again and she didn’t care anymore.

 

*                     *                     *

The next three weeks were spent trudging through the wilderness.

Bilba spent the time training.

She fought with all of them, even Thorin, learning the ins and outs of fighting against opponents who were different sizes and shapes and who possessed different fighting styles. She fought with them as they walked so she could have experience fighting while moving and over different terrains. She fought with many or all of them against her and fought with some of them on her side against the others. As Dwalin explained she couldn’t always expect to fight one on one or in a situation like with Azog where everyone was her enemy. There could very well come a time when she would find herself fighting alongside others against a common foe and, in those cases, it was vitally important she be able to tell friend from foe instantly.

All of them still seemed stunned by what had happened with Azog and were eager to help her so that, next time, if there ever was one, she could do more than just stab him in the stomach.

Not that stabbing him in the stomach had not been an awe-inspiring thing and her confidence probably grew more in those three weeks than it had done in all the years of her life so far.

Or at least it did until they came to the Anduin.

Bilba had already been in a foul mood. Over the past few days she’d found her energy lagging, as though the adrenaline burst she’d gotten from facing Azog and finding out everyone was alive had finally faded. She’d racked up her own injuries after all and, with the meager supplies and the constant training she foolishly insisted on, she often found herself trudging behind them, out of breath and desperately wanting to lie down and take a nap.

She’d kept her mouth shut as she could see the others were just as tired, particularly Balin who’d had little time to stop and recover and still hobbled along on his crutch with a determined expression on his face.

Regardless, though, feeling poorly had certainly soured her mood and bursting out of the tree line to see the Anduin glittering in the sun before her had not helped in the slightest.

There was absolutely no way she was crossing it.

Radagast had apparently taken them to a spot on the river where he’d built a bridge himself. Well, he called it a bridge. It consisted of narrow wooden planks with large gaps between them. Spindly pieces of board rose up from the sides, also with massive gaps and the railing consisted of frayed looking rope.

As Radagast crossed easily she could see that, for him or even the dwarves, the gaps were minimal.

She would probably be forced to hop between planks.

WOULD have been forced because there was zero chance she was crossing it.

She strode to a nearby tree and sat beneath it, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back.

Thorin loomed over her. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Bilba stated tartly. “I’m not going.”

Thorin looked confused. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not crossing a stupid river on a stupid rope bridge that’ll no doubt collapse in the middle and drown us all, that’s why!”

He looked over his shoulder to where over half the Company, including Bombur and Dwalin, had already crossed safely to the other side. He turned back and raised an eyebrow at her.

Bilba made a face at him.

“If you don’t go something will undoubtedly come along to eat you.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to get eaten on the other side.” She glared at him. “And didn’t I say that was your fault? If you’re over there I’ll probably be less likely to be eaten.”

Thorin crouched in front of her, his expression amused.

Bilba resisted the urge to hit him.

“I cannot imagine,” he said, “that a woman who faced down trolls and Azog would have any fear over such a little thing.”

She looked at him, studying his face but all she could see was sincerity.

She huffed in frustration. She hated it when he was sincere. It usually meant he was being REASONABLE.

“The fact it is so little a thing is the problem,” she muttered. She looked down and examined her fingers, glowering at the ragged and torn ends. “I can’t swim. Most hobbits can’t. We possess a healthy, and perfectly correct, fear of water.”

She stressed the perfectly correct part, almost daring him to mock her.

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “If you fall in I’ll get you out.”

Bilba gave a pointed look at him and his armor. “You’d sink like a rock. No one would be getting either of us out.”

Thorin sighed, stood up and walked to where his nephews still stood by the bridge.

Bilba frowned, hurt. He was just going to leave her that easily? Granted, she’d TOLD him to but, still, she’d have thought she meant just a bit more to his Royal Oaken-ness.

Thorin took his Ridiculous Coat of Majestic off and handed it to Fili. He then proceeded to remove his armor.

Bilba watched, her mood lightening ever so slightly.

Finally he stood in his trousers and shirt; he’d even taken his boots off.

He marched back over to her and Bilba looked at him, a challenge in her eyes.

Apparently he took her up on it because he knelt, grabbed her arms, threw her over his shoulder and stood up to begin striding back.

Bilba shrieked, grabbing ahold of the back of his shirt. “Thorin! What is WITH you Durins and picking me up?”

He ignored her.

Bilba peeked around him and saw the river and that stupid bridge coming closer.

Fear rose in her, churning in her gut. She could picture it, ice cold water dragging her down, forcing its way into her lungs, burning pain as she fought to breathe.

Bile rose in her throat and she most certainly, absolutely, positively did NOT whimper in fear.

They’d reached the edge of the bridge and her hands tightened in Thorin’s shirt so hard it hurt.

“Thorin,” she managed to gasp. She wanted to say more; to beg him to put her down and let her go but her brain completely locked up and the words wouldn’t come. The only thing she seemed able to say was his name over and over again.

The world spun madly and she found her feet on the ground for an instant. Then an arm slid under her legs and he was picking her up again, cradling her in his arms.

“Don’t look,” Thorin said.

Bilba gave a low moan and curled up as tight as possible in his arms, grabbing his shirt and burying her face against his neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of anything else as she felt him take a step onto the bridge.

It rocked under them and Bilba went deathly still.

They were still moving and now Thorin gave her just the barest jostle.

“Breathe, Bilba.”

She tried, she really did, but the best she could manage were shallow gasps.

She retreated after that, not really unconscious, but not present either. At some point she thought she heard a voice talking to her but ignored it. A hand slid over hers where she held Thorin but they would have had to cut her hands off to break the grip she had on the dwarf.

She wasn’t sure how long it was before she came back to herself to the slow realization that they were walking on solid ground again.

Opening her eyes she risked a look and was startled to see they were walking through woods once more. She raised herself up just a bit to see over Thorin’s shoulder and realized she couldn’t see the Anduin behind them anymore.

Just how long had she been out of it?

“Better now?”

Bilba looked up at him, wincing slightly as the sun from overhead hit her. She could feel a dull ache starting up just behind her eyes and knew it heralded the beginnings of a raging headache.

“Yes.”

He nodded and carefully set her down, allowing her to hold onto him until she had her balance back.

Fili and Kili brought his armor over and he redressed quickly, finally pulling on his boots and strapping on his sword.

Ahead, Radagast turned and pointed over his shoulder. Following the direction Bilba caught sight of a cabin in the not too far distance.

“We’re almost there!”

A loud cheer rose up from the Company at the thought of finally getting some much needed rest and the time to recover before continuing on.

Many of them broke into a near run toward the home and it was soon just her and Thorin left behind.

He crooked his arm and gave her an amused glance. Apparently she amused him a lot these days, she thought with a glower.

“My Lady?”

Bilba gave an exasperated snort but took the proffered arm and allowed him to lead her off toward the house.

“You still would have drowned you know,” she said.

“Why is that?”

“You didn’t take off all your armor,” Bilba accused. “What did you have under your shirt anyway? A breastplate?”

“My chest?”

Bilba flushed. “Oh. Well, in that case, you don’t need your armor. I’m sure your chest will stop anything.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

Radagast’s friend, as it turned out, was an enormous Man by the name of Beorn.

An enormous Man who happened to, on occasion, change into a bear.

Radagast failed to mention this fact until after they’d found themselves chased by said bear and subsequently been forced to lock themselves in said bear’s house to escape him.

“Wait,” Bilba said, rounding on the wizard once they were all inside and their heart rates had resumed beating relatively normally, “are you saying we just locked him out of his OWN HOUSE? No wonder he was chasing us! I’m sure he’s going to be just thrilled when he changes back!”

Radagast huffed and stammered but, before he could say anything, Thorin grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

“You enjoy irritating wizards don’t you?”

“Of course not,” Bilba shot at him, “they’re naturally irritating on their own!” She glared at him, her ire redirected. “This is YOUR fault! I told you that you attract things that want to eat us! You should have let me stay on the other side of the bridge!”

Thorin glowered. “And let you get eaten by Azog?”

“I stabbed your boyfriend in the stomach!” Bilba reminded him, aggravated. “I don’t think he’s going to be eating anything any time soon!”

Near her Nori snorted and quickly covered his mouth while Dwalin suddenly found an important reason to look somewhere else.

Bilba glowered at the lot of them. Her budding headache had flared to life, a tight throbbing in both temples. She had already been tired. Running from their host and breaking into his house had just about finished her. Her entire body felt heavy and she wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and sleep for a week.

Finding Fili in the crowd she sent him a pleading look. He moved to her side immediately and she wrapped her arms around one of his arms and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Fili,” she murmured, “I’m tired and the wizard and your uncle won’t stop trying to kill us.”

“How am I trying to kill us?” Thorin’s voice muttered from behind her.

“Silence!” Bilba snapped. She sagged, forcing Fili to wrap an arm around her waist to support her.

“I’m going to go to sleep now,” she said. “Can you make sure the reckless idiots don’t get us all eaten before I wake up?”

She could feel Fili’s chest shaking from barely suppressed laughter.

“I give you my word,” he said, his voice properly grave. “As an heir to the line of Durin.”

Bilba patted his chest in thanks and pushed herself upright. All Fili really needed to do was give Thorin something to brood about; it’d keep him occupied for hours.

It was possible she said that out loud judging by the sudden group coughing fit, and Thorin’s annoyed muttering, but she didn’t care. She’d spotted a very nice bed of straw a few feet away and she headed toward it, stopping only long enough to single out Balin and a few of the other, more injured dwarves.

“You lot,” she ordered, “sleep also.”

She waved vaguely at the floor and then happily collapsed on the straw.

Sleep took her before she’d fully lain down.

The dream started immediately after.

_She stood in the midst of a great battle. Around her people of all races were locked in a titanic struggle against a seeming endless horde of goblins and orcs. Screams of pain rippled through the air and the smell of blood and steel stung her nostrils._

_She tried to move but every step she took was blocked by the corpses of the fallen. Mountains of them stretched out in every direction._

_The ring of steel meeting steel caught her attention and she turned to see two figures locked in battle with the horde. They fought back to back, their forms slim and lithe, moving with the grace and agility that can only come from youth. Long, dark hair swirled about their shoulders as they moved but she could not see their faces no matter how hard she tried._

_They fought as though they were one person, each one backing up the other without conscious thought, moving into one another’s weak spots and bolstering each other’s strengths._

_Recognition pricked at her. She felt as though she knew them, like she’d seen them before._

_Had she?_

_A roar, louder than thunder, split the air without warning._

_Bilba clapped her hands over her ears as they threatened to burst. The sound seemed to come from everywhere, vibrating up from under her feet, boiling through the air._

_The sound stopped._

_So did the fighting._

_As one everyone went still, weapons at their sides, faces turned to the east._

_Even the air seemed to have paused, as if the earth itself had drawn in a breath and waited to release it._

_A new noise began. It sounded like rushing wind but the air was still._

_In the east a black shape appeared._

_The noise grew louder and the shape grew larger._

_It finally registered in her mind just what she was looking at._

_She knew, obviously, what lay at the end of their quest. She knew it academically but the reality was something else entirely._

_Smaug was the embodiment of every nightmare, every thing that lurked in the dark, every nameless fear and unseen specter._

_His body twisted through the air, so large she was sure it would block out the sun if he flew across it. His wings were creating the noise she heard, like that of an oncoming storm. Light glinted off his scales, burnished like armor._

_His mouth opened, revealing teeth larger than she was._

_An orange glow began to build deep in his throat._

_His chest lit up as well, as though molten lava ran through his veins._

_No one on the battlefield moved._

_Death approached and there was no running from it._

_A strange peace stole over her and she felt her body relax._

_There was nothing to be done._

_Fire erupted from Smaug’s mouth, a great wave pouring over the field. It destroyed everything in its wake, orc, man, dwarf and elf._

_Her eyes went to the two she’d witnessed earlier and she was startled to see they were the only ones not watching the east._

_Instead they were looking to her._

_Behind them the raging fire moved closer. She saw their hair lifted in the wind, driven before it, flames silhouetting their bodies._

_No._

_“NO!”_

_She screamed and suddenly was running, scrambling over the dead and living alike in her attempts to reach them._

_She had no idea who they were but she could not, WOULD NOT let them die._

_Neither of them reacted to her, or the inferno behind them. They stood tall, strong, and together._

_She stumbled over a body and fell forward, slamming into the ground._

_She pushed to her knees, lifted her head and found herself staring into the eyes of the two, both of whom were now kneeling before her._

_They reached out and grabbed her arms, pulling her forward. For a split second she saw their faces clearly and felt her eyes widen in shock._

_Then they pulled her close and wrapped their arms around her._

_She hugged them back desperately, fingers tangling in their hair and looked past them to watch death swell toward them._

_Light and heat washed over her._

_In the split second before it arrived she felt lips at her ear, heard words quickly spoken._

_Then liquid fire crested over them and death was all she saw._

Bilba sat straight up, tears streaming down her face and her breathing coming in choked sobs. Her heart raced in her chest and she reached up to twist her fingers in her shirt. She felt Thorin’s ring under the fabric and gripped it until the edges bit into her fingers.

She lifted a trembling hand and brushed sweat-slicked hair off her forehead, struggling to bring herself back under control.

Already she was beginning to forget the dream and she allowed it to go, she didn’t want to remember it. If she did it was unlikely she’d ever be able to bring herself to set foot inside the mountain.

Her mind went briefly to the two figures, their faces and words already lost to her. She wanted to hold onto them but already their images faded and it was with regret she was forced to let them go.

Her breathing and heart rate began to return to normal and she took note of her surroundings for the first time.

It was dark, even the few animals she remembered seeing when they’d come in were settled down asleep.

Surrounding her on all sides was the rest of the Company, equally sound asleep. Thorin was next to her, Fili and Kili on her other side.

Carefully she stood up and began to pick her way across, careful not to disturb them. Most of them were exhausted and so deeply asleep, however, she imagined falling flat on them probably wouldn’t disturb them.

She reached the front of the house and opened the door, slipping out and closing it behind her. A brisk breeze washed over her and she sighed as it cooled the sweat coating her skin.

She stepped a few feet away and settled on a nearby bench, leaning back against the wall.

“What’s the matter, little bunny? Are you hunted during both the day and night?”

Bilba jerked and clapped a hand over her mouth, barely managing to bite back a scream.

From out of the shadows an enormous figure approached. He appeared to be a Man, an enormous one, looming even taller than Gandalf. He wore a simple tunic and trousers and had long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail.

He dropped on the bench beside her, causing the entire thing to rattle violently.

“You are not a dwarf,” he stated flatly.

She wasn’t a bunny either but Bilba decided to let it go, given the circumstances. She stood and, as best she could, curtsied in front of him.

“Bilba Baggins of the Shire, at your service.” She straightened. “And please allow me to offer my apologies for the whole locking you out of your house thing. Radagast couldn’t be bothered to explain things to us beforehand.”

Beorn studied her, his expression blank.

“Wizards have a tendency to do as they wish,” he said finally. He cocked his head, appraising her. “Tell me, little bunny, why should I allow you to stay and not kill you all now?”

Bilba sighed. Turning around she flopped back on the bench, close enough to him to brush against his arm.

“I’m too tired to beg for my life,” she said, “so all I’ll say is, if you do kill us, do us all a favor and come up with something more creative than eating us.” She looked up, counting in her head. “I’ve lost count of how many times something has tried to eat us, it’s getting downright boring.”

Beorn said nothing.

Bilba continued to look up, studying the fat moon that hung low in the sky. Stars, more than could ever be counted, spread out over her head, glittering like jewels set in onyx. They cast Beorn’s yard in a silver glow, lighting the trees and bushes and glistening on the grass.

Bilba had been gone from the Shire for close to three months and this was the first time she’d felt a sense of peace anywhere close to what she’d felt every day there.

A sense of homesickness welled up inside her as she pictured Bag End, the marketplace, her neighbors, sitting by the Brandywine on a quiet afternoon with a good book in hand.

“You are not a dwarf,” Beorn said again, his voice startling her. “Yet you travel with them. I have seen Hobbits before; you are not ones to leave your homes. Why, then, did you? Did you owe them a debt?”

Bilba smiled, not that he could see it in the dark. “No, I’d never even met them before they crashed a date I’d been planning.”

“I imagine that went well,” Beorn said, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

Bilba laughed. “Not as well as I’d hoped.”

As Beorn seemed interested she launched into a telling of her journey, starting from that first knock on her door and ending at the bench she currently sat on. She glossed over the events of the cavern and tunnel, as it was her and Thorin’s business and certainly not something she planned to share with ANYONE, much less a stranger.

When she finished she lapsed into silence, staring at her hands where they were twisted in her lap.

“You still haven’t answered my question, bunny,” Beorn said finally.

Bilba frowned. “What question was that?”

“Why?”

Bilba chewed on her lower lip, why HAD she gone with the dwarves in the end? Was it just to find what happened to her parents? Had it just been because she felt she owed Thorin? Certainly those were parts of it, she admitted.

Fili’s face flashed through her mind, the affection and love she saw every time he looked at his little brother, the quiet humor with which he dealt with Thorin’s brooding. She saw Kili, his easy smile and laughter, the quick wit and way he was willing to embarrass himself if it brought a smile to his brother or Thorin.

Thorin’s quiet acceptance of the fate he had been assigned, his willingness to put his own life aside in the quest to return his people’s home.

“Have you ever lost your home?” she asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the stars overhead. “Have you ever had it taken from you?”

“I have,” Beorn said, his voice flat. “But I will get it back, someday.”

Bilba sighed, watching the stars. “I can’t imagine mine being taken from me.”

“But that is not why you left with them,” Beorn stated. “You left to find what happened to your family and then out of a debt you felt you owed.” She felt him looking at her and turned to meet his eyes. They were wise and deep, seemeing to look straight through her. “But that is not what keeps you here now. Debts can be paid in other ways; there is no reason to continue to place yourself in such danger. So I ask you again, bunny, what keeps you?”

“Because I love them,” Bilba said. “Because I can’t stand the thought of possibly never seeing them again,” she paused, “And because no one would help them. It isn’t fair.”

“Life is unfair, bunny,” Beorn said, “but you know that already. Would you try to right every wrong?”

“Maybe I will,” Bilba said, her voice strengthening, “maybe I’ve been sitting quietly for far too long. If I can help then I will.” She met his eyes, mentally kicking herself as she realized what she had to say. “If I survive this quest, and if you wish it, I will return and help you reclaim your home as well, if I can.”

Beorn, from what she could see in the moonlight, looked stunned. He leaned toward her, his eyes locked on hers and, again, she had the feeling he was seeing much deeper than anyone had the right to.

Then, without warning, he began to laugh.

“By the Valar, you’re serious!” He settled back on the bench, his hands on his knees and laughed so loudly it was a wonder the entire Company didn’t wake up and come rushing out. It was several long minutes before he calmed down. Bilba stayed quiet through it all.

Finally Beorn settled and, when he did, a look of almost sadness crossed his face. “You are a rare sort, little bunny,” he stated. “I have seen your kind before. You wear your heart in the open and offer it freely to any who ask. Doing so will bring you great riches and equally great pain. Those who fail to protect their heart most often end up with it shattered.”

“If offering my heart freely brought people like Thorin, Fili, Kili and the others into my life…if it gave me people like Priscilla and Seth… if it let me stand where I am right now...” She smiled, “if the cost of gaining all that is my heart, then let it be shattered.”

“Are they truly worth that?” the shapeshifter asked. “Are they of such worth that you would give so much?”

“They are,” Bilba said without hesitation.

“So be it,” Beorn said. He stood, looming over her to the point his face was lost in the shadows under the eaves of the house. “I will accept your dwarves for as long as they need to stay. No harm shall come to you, on that I give you my word.”

A great weight seemed to fall off Bilba’s shoulders. She stood and curtsied once more. “Thank you, Beorn.” She straightened again, her eyes looking up at him. “And I meant what I said. I will help you if you ask it of me.”

He chuckled again. “Perhaps I shall take you up on that one day, little bunny. Perhaps.”

With that he was gone, vanishing back into the night.

Bilba went back inside and took her place again next to Thorin and soon fell asleep.

This time, she had no dreams.

The next morning she woke up to the chattering of dwarves seated around the table as Beorn served them an enormous breakfast. He made no mention of their conversation the night before and she didn’t bring it up.

After breakfast Radagast left, stating he had only been sent by Gandalf to check on them, not stay with them for the entire quest.

Bilba approached him as he readied a horse Beorn had loaned him.

“I am sorry for irritating you,” she said. “I didn’t do it on purpose, for the most part. I’m sure if you ask Gandalf he’ll say I’m even worse than you probably think.”

Radagast knelt before her, bringing himself to her eye level. “You are valued by more than you know, Bilba Baggins, and it was an honor to meet one who merits such favor. I hope we may meet again, under more pleasant circumstances.”

Bilba smiled and nodded, slightly confused by his words. Knowing Gandalf as she did, however, she knew better than to try and ask a wizard for clarification. Instead she stepped back and waved as he rode away.

Then she turned on one foot and headed back inside.

 

*             *             *

They stayed at Beorn’s for a month.

All of them were battered and exhausted in both body and mind. Balin’s leg took quite a while to heal and, even after it did, he had to spend time working on it to get it back to its old strength.

Beorn didn’t have any armor or weapons to give but was able to gather enough materials to allow Dori to create boots and some better clothing for Dwalin, himself, Nori and Ori. He also repaired the clothing they did have as best he could and even managed to come up with a few new items for Bilba so she didn’t have to wear the same thing every day.

Bilba spent a lot of her time training with Fili and Dwalin, getting stronger and surer in her movements and style. When she wasn’t doing that she spent time getting to know the others in the Company.

Beorn would also seek her out, seeming content to sit with her and talk about nothing for hours on end.

“Many go through the fire, little bunny, and come out the other side changed forever,” he stated during one such conversation. “You have gone through and come out a warrior.”

Bilba smiled, a warm feeling rushing through her at the words. Her eyes went to Beorn’s wrists, studying the scars wrapping around them. She remembered his words about losing his home. “You have been through the fire as well,” she said. “What did you come out as?”

Beorn turned to let his eyes roam over his pastures, taking in his animals quietly grazing or resting.

“Tired,” he said finally.

 

*                 *               *

Slowly the Company began to feel like themselves again. Bruises and cuts vanished, Balin was soon walking comfortably again and the ones who’d lost their clothing soon sported new items and boots.

Thorin, naturally, proved to be the most stubborn. He had several cracked, if not outright broken, ribs and they healed as slowly as they possibly could.

Being an idiot he, of course, tried to pass it off as little more than a scratch and positively refused to relax. Most days he could be found sitting stiffly on the bench outside Beorn’s front door, dressed in full armor with his sword resting by his side.

Finally, one day, Bilba had enough.

She’d just finished a rather strenuous training session with Fili where he’d mocked her on how fast she’d run out of breath and tired, claiming she was moving backwards in her training instead of forward.

After he’d headed off to find his brother she had looked over just in time to see Thorin catching himself in the middle of a stretch, his face twisting in pain for a moment before smoothing out again.

Bilba sighed.

Putting her sword down near a tree she stomped over to him and grabbed his hand.

“Come on, up.”

He gave her a confused look but she didn’t relent, continuing to pull on his arm until he gave in and stood up.

Bilba led him to a quiet part of Beorn’s gardens, away from most of the Company.

“All right,” she said, putting her hands on his belt. “Armor off.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, his lips turning up in a smirk. “I hardly believe this is the appropriate time or place, Bilba.”

Bilba stared at him blankly. Her eyes went to her hands on his belt and her mouth fell open, her face going white hot. She jerked her hands back as though burned. “I don’t – I mean I didn’t --- Don’t be crass!” She ordered, feeling her ears heat up as well. “Honestly!”

He chuckled and she made an aggravated noise. “Just humor me, all right? Take your armor off, but ONLY your armor. Everything else stays on!”

This time he did laugh and Bilba was pretty sure she was flushing all the way down to her toes, her entire body getting in on the mortification.

Thorin obediently removed his armor. Bilba helped him remove his coat and the armor that required he move his torso. Finally he stood in just his trousers and shirt.

“All right,” Bilba said, “now sit down.”

He grimaced at the thought but obeyed her. That in itself showed her how much pain he was in. A Thorin Oakenshield who couldn’t bring himself to snipe at her was an injured Thorin Oakenshield indeed.

She helped him as best she could until he was finally seated on the thick grass. Bilba immediately went to his feet and began taking his boots off.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Shut up,” Bilba snapped. She got the boots off and then walked back up to his head. She knelt next to him and put a hand on his back. “Now lay down.”

The look he gave her was priceless.

Bilba sighed in exasperation. “Again, humor me.”

He sighed and then grit his teeth. She helped him down until he was flat on his back in the grass. She then grabbed his arms and feet and carefully stretched them out until they were flat and fully supported on the ground.

Stepping around him she stretched out on the ground with her head next to his.

“Now what?”

“Now you shut up,” Bilba said happily.

He sighed. “Most people wouldn’t dare talk to me the way you do.”

“Don’t bother complaining,” Bilba said, “you already said you like the fact that I treat you like a normal person.”

“Fair point.”

Bilba watched the clouds drift by overhead, sighing in happiness. A thought occurred to her. “When is your birthday?”

“Excuse me?” Thorin sounded startled.

“We’ve done everything backward,” Bilba said. “We've been stuck together for so much time now that we feel we know one another but we know very little ABOUT one another.”

“Does it matter?”

Bilba shrugged. “It could. What if you find out something awful, like I have an adopted Elvish uncle or something?”

“Do you?”

“No,” Bilba said, “but that’s beside the point. Anyway, answer the question, when is your birthday?”

He answered and then followed it up with a question of his own. Bilba answered that one and, soon enough, they were having a conversation that DIDN’T involve death, dragons or things trying to eat them.

It was nice.

As he spoke Bilba could hear Thorin’s voice began to grow heavier and heavier, his words beginning to slur. Eventually he trailed off in the middle of a sentence, falling asleep entirely. Bilba rolled over and studied him, watching his chest rise and fall in an even, steady rhythm.

“Nicely done.”

Bilba rolled her eyes at Nori. He’d shown up at some point, taking a seat on a nearby rock to watch them. Thorin hadn’t noticed, another testament to his exhaustion, and Bilba had ignored him.

Now she headed over and sat next to him, watching Thorin as he slept.

“I can see why our illustrious King gifted you with his ring.”

Bilba twitched, her hand going to the ring under her shirt. “How in the world did you even notice it was gone?”

Nori shrugged nonchalant. “I’m a thief. I know everything of value in this Company; you think I wouldn’t notice something went missing? Or when our King didn’t seem to mind its disappearance?”

Bilba gave him a suspicious look. “When you look at people do you actually see them or do you just see walking pieces of jewelry?”

His only response was a grin.

“What do you see when you look at your brothers?” Bilba asked. “Neither of them wears jewelry that I’ve seen.”

“When I look at Ori and Dori I only ever see them,” Nori said immediately.

“Don't tell anyone,” she said. “It’s...just don't tell anyone, all right?”

Nori looked amused. “I think you might be surprised to find just how bad the two of you are at hiding things.”

Bilba rolled her eyes, they couldn’t be THAT bad or someone would have said something…right?

“In any event,” Nori continued, “I approve and I imagine the rest do as well. Thorin could not do better.”

Bilba ducked her head, embarrassed. Wanting to change the subject she said, “Well, since we’re both here, want to start more Black Speech lessons?”

He smiled, willing to let her re-direct the conversation. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Bilba laughed.

They spent the next several hours deep in lessons over grammar, syntax and the proper way to insult an orc. Through it all Thorin slept deeply, never so much as twitching. He looked much younger when he slept, Bilba thought, the lines and cares he carried melting away.

The sun began to creep toward the horizon and the breeze started to cool.

Bilba slowly became aware of a delicious aroma drifting around the corner from the direction of the house. Her stomach grumbled.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, “I don’t want to leave Thorin alone, would you mind getting me a plate?”

Nori looked confused. “How do you know it’s ready?”

“I can smell it,” Bilba said, “can’t you?”

Nori frowned, turning his head toward the house. “I suppose I can smell it a little now that I’m focused on it, but it’s not that clear.”

Bilba shrugged. “It’s clear enough to me.” She reached over and gave him a mock push. “Now go, fetch me some!”

He rolled his eyes but obediently got to his feet where he sketched a mock bow. “As you wish.”

He left and Bilba sighed and settled back to watch the sun go down.

Thorin continued to sleep and she settled in to wait.

He had removed his armor and fallen asleep in the open because she had asked him too.

So she would watch over him until he awakened.

It was the least she could do.

 

*                 *               *

Thorin slept until well after dark when Dwalin finally woke him up to help him inside. Once in he fell asleep almost immediately once more and didn’t wake up again for twelve hours.

When he did the pain lines on his face were slightly eased and his movements were just a bit looser.

Bilba started to make it a routine, dragging Thorin out to relax in the grass, talking to him about anything and nothing for as long as it took for him to fall asleep.

His condition improved rapidly after that until he soon started to join in on her training sessions, though he seemed to take a lot more joy in helping correct her stances and body position than in actually sparring with her.

In this way the month passed quickly and Thorin announced they were healed enough to continue on their way.

Beorn loaded them up with as many supplies as he could and even allowed them the use of some of his ponies. It would take three weeks to get to the entrance of Mirkwood, even by pony, and Bilba was extremely happy she would not have to face those three weeks on foot.

Beorn went with them, not because he worried about them he insisted, but because he wanted to look after the ponies.

They set out early in the morning, Bilba turning in her saddle to look longingly back at Beorn’s home. She would miss the quiet and peaceful days. She had a feeling there would be little of either in the days ahead.

The next three weeks were wildly different from the three they had spent getting to Beorn’s. With the shapeshifter along nothing dared bother them and, healthy and on ponies, the Company was in much better spirits.

If anything the trip was almost more of what Bilba had once believed adventures to be, quiet and simple, seeing the sights around them, enjoying being out amidst nature.

The days merged into one another and ran together. Bilba spent her days with Nori or Fili and Kili or even Thorin, riding at the head with him and Dwalin.

She would spend time with the others as well, getting to know them better. She had regretted not doing it before the rock giants and, now, given a second chance, she was determined to do better.

So she talked to Gloin about his wife and son, exchanged recipes with Bombur and started to learn how to carve with Bofur. She began to learn sign language with Bifur, still unwilling to spread the word that she could speak his language, and learned medicinal herbs and draughts with Oin. She continued to teach Nori Black Speech, continued to tell Ori stories of the Shire, and from books she could remember reading, and helped Dori continue to mend clothing and sew new ones with the cloth he’d brought along. She trained even harder with Dwalin, Kili and Fili and held long conversations with Thorin about his life in the Blue Mountains, and his life in Erebor before that.

She didn’t forget Beorn either, often going to ride alongside him as they walked. He didn’t speak of his past much but was more than willing to talk history with her, telling her of things he had witnessed himself and adding stories she had never heard, personal stories witnessed firsthand instead of being recounted later.

It was with a sense of regret, then, that they finally arrived at Mirkwood.

Bilba felt a sense of foreboding as soon as it came into view. Tall trees crowded closely together, twisted branches tangling together and a thick canopy stretching overhead. As they drew nearer Bilba thought the forest seemed almost too quiet, the trees themselves seemed almost lifeless, drooping in clumps as though the life had drained out of them.

This was no forest she was used to, like those back in the Shire. This was a forest that had been twisted and defiled, though by what she could not say.

They drew to a stop near where an opening led into the forest. Broken, scattered cobblestones led in underneath the canopy, vanishing quickly around a curve just inside the forest.

“This is as far as I go,” Beorn said, stopping.

Thorin nodded, dismounting from his pony. The others followed suit, removing their packs and shouldering them.

“Thank you,” Thorin said gravely, “we owe you a debt.”

“You should thank the little bunny,” Beorn said simply. He faced her, his eyes dark. “Do not stray from the path, bunny. Do not drink the water or eat anything either. The land is sick here, it will infect you if you do not take care.”

Bilba nodded. “Thank you. I pray we meet again.”

Beorn nodded. “Under more pleasant circumstances. Once you return come tell me your tale. I would like to hear it.”

Bilba nodded, gratified he’d said when and not if. “I will.”

He left after that, the ponies trotting along after him, seeming happy to not have to go into the forest.

Thorin turned to face the path. As he did a breeze blew out from the forest, bringing a sharp bite to it. Over the last three weeks Bilba had begun to notice the nights were just a bit cooler, the days just a little shorter.

Durin’s Day was approaching and, with it, the dragon at the end of the journey.

“Let’s go,” Thorin stated. He stepped forward, leading the way into the woods. The rest of the Company followed.

Bilba hesitated, looking back for a moment in the direction Beorn and the ponies had vanished.

Then, taking a deep breath, she shouldered her pack and stepped forward after Thorin and the others.

Beorn’s was behind her.

Mirkwood was ahead.

And, beyond that, Smaug.

She would indeed have a tale to tell at the end of the quest.

She just prayed she would be alive to tell it.

 

 


	33. Chapter 33

Bilba hated Mirkwood with a passion bordering on the irrational. In fact it nearly approached the level of hatred Thorin seemed to feel, if the permanent scowl he kept directing at the trees as though they’d personally offended him, was any indication.

The path was narrow, the trees crowding in on both sides. They were nothing like the trees in the Shire, which were straight and strong with dark brown bark and emerald green leaves. These trees were twisted and gnarled, hunched as though under some great weight. The branches overhead were a tangled mass, blocking out the sun, and they had a dull gray bark and leaves the color of old blood.

They were sick, very sick and held such an aura that Bilba half expected them to come to life at any moment and devour her and the Company where they stood.

She would have to consider adding trees to her list of things in Middle Earth that wanted to eat them. She could rename the list – Things in Middle Earth that Absolutely Want to Eat You and Things that Most Likely Will if You’re Dumb Enough to Turn Your Back.

The path they walked was little better. Beorn had mentioned it being the main road through Mirkwood but, if it was, she couldn’t imagine the last time any maintenance had been done on it. The stones it was comprised of were loose and outright missing at some points. In numerous spots they were pushed up, creating sharp, jagged corners for her to trip or stub a toe on.

It was about the fourth time this happened that Bilba finally lost her temper and proceeded to swear at the offending stone, in three languages, at length.

When she finally stopped and looked up it was to see the entire Company paused and staring at her.

“Don’t give me that look,” Bilba said in irritation, “it’s not like you haven’t all been thinking the same thing.”

“True,” Bofur said amicably, “but perhaps not toward that one stone in particular.”

“That’s because you’re wearing boots,” Bilba muttered.

“Bilba,” Thorin’s deep baritone sounded from the front of the line, “come up here.”

Bilba felt her face heat. She moved forward, edging past the others. Beorn had warned them about stepping off the path which meant they were all forced to walk in ridiculously close company to one another.

As she reached Thorin she grumbled, “Whose idea was it to make the path this narrow anyway?”

“I would imagine the pointy eared bastards who live here,” Thorin answered mildly. “Trust elves to have obnoxious architecture.”

Bilba gave him a dry look. “And I suppose if it were dwarven made it would be a thousand times better?”

“Of course,” Thorin said instantly, lifting his chin in pride. “Wait until you see Erebor. There are pathways carved from a solid block of stone, spanning over great chasms that let you see all the way down into the mines.”

As he spoke he’d started walking again, pulling her along with him.

“That sounds beautiful,” Bilba agreed. “Are there handrails?”

“Why would you need them?” He asked in confusion. “Just don’t walk near the edge.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. She hooked her hand around his bicep and glared at the stupid forest.

“We need to get out of here,” she said in annoyance. “Before something tries to eat us.”

“It has been awhile since the last attempt,” Thorin responded, “hasn’t it?”

“Too long,” Bilba agreed. “I’m worried.” She frowned. “I wonder what it says when NOT almost getting eaten worries me?”

“Nothing good,” Thorin replied.

She heard a snort behind her and glanced back to see Fili and Kili looking studiously elsewhere. Behind them Dwalin was staring at the trees as if considering personally attempting to chop them all down. The rest of the Company straggled behind him, looks of amusement on several faces.

Bilba made a mental note, sound carried quite well here.

Thorin slid an arm around her waist suddenly, lifting her up and over a loose stone before she could stub her toe and end up in another swearing rant.

“This reminds me of the tunnels,” he said mildly, “when I had to guide you through.”

“Hopefully we don’t get as lost,” Bilba muttered.

Thorin scowled. “We didn’t get lost.”

“Pretty sure we did,” Bilba shot back. “Just because I couldn’t see doesn’t mean I didn’t notice us turning around, more than once.”

“There were collapses,” Thorin said, “the way was blocked and we were forced to backtrack.”

He kept his face forward as he spoke, his eyes focused on the path.

Bilba’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Were there really collapses or are you just using that as a convenient excuse because you know it was too dark for me to see to dispute you?”

He changed the subject, suddenly noticing some plant or another just off the path that was fascinating to him.

She shot a look back at Dwalin but he ignored her, clearly determined to defend his King’s right to lie through his teeth.

Fili met her eyes and mouthed the words, probably lost. Beside him Kili nodded sagely.

Bilba grinned. She turned back just as Thorin saved her from running into another stone again.

As he pulled her in she bumped against the sword he carried in his scabbard. It wasn’t the one he’d started out with, that one was being carried by someone else in the Company now, though she’d forgotten who.

The sword Thorin carried now had been found at the same time as her own sword. She vaguely remembered Elrond recognizing it, as well as one Gandalf had found. They both had names and were known to have seen battle.

Her hand trailed to the hilt of her own weapon. It didn’t have a name as far as she knew but she’d been trying to think of one for it on and off.

Her line of thinking trailed to the other items they’d found at that time and a thought occurred to her. She twisted and found Kili just behind her.

“What happened to that second bow we found? Couldn’t you use that?”

Fili gave her a wide eyed look and shook his head frantically but it was too late, she’d already asked.

Kili gave her a look like he’d just eaten something incredibly sour. “I forgot it at Rivendell,” he muttered, his eyes on his feet. “It’s still in the room we used as far as I know.”

“Oh,” Bilba said, “that’s too bad, it was a good bow.”

Kili heaved an aggrieved sigh. Next to him, Fili grabbed his shoulder in sympathy.

Bilba went back to watching where she was going, exchanging a quick look with Thorin and shrugging slightly in guilt.

His shoulders lifted momentarily and then lowered, what are you going to do?

Ahead of them the path seemed to go on endlessly, vanishing into the darkness of the forest. Bilba felt a twisting in her stomach and a strong sense of foreboding. She knew she had nightmares at night; sometimes she woke some of the others up. She could never remember them upon waking but couldn’t stop the feeling she SHOULD, that by forgetting them she was losing something vitally important.

The scenery never changed aside from the basics of it growing light or dark. At night they would huddle on the path, generally without a fire as Thorin wanted to keep their presence as unnoticed as possible.

Days began to pass and then a week and then another after that. As the end of the second week approached supplies began to dwindle. Beorn had warned them against eating or drinking anything in the forest and it was clear Thorin had forgotten just how big Mirkwood was.

That or they were lost.

Bilba had noticed it a few days earlier. They still walked a path through the woods but it was dirt, no more stones or paving anywhere to be seen. She couldn’t put her finger on when it had happened and didn’t remember making any obvious turns that would have taken them off the path.

But…still, she couldn’t shake the feeling, particularly after they passed a large boulder that she could swear they’d passed at least three other times.

“We’re going in circles.”

Thorin glared at her. His temper was short, as was the temper of everyone else.

“We are not,” he stated, “we’ve stayed on the path.”

“Have we?” Bilba said, rounding on him. The movement was ill advised as a short wave of dizziness washed over her. She’d begun to feel dizzy on and off the past several days, probably as a result of the lack of food and the overall oppression of the forest. A headache throbbing behind her eyes didn’t help.“Then where is it?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about? It’s right--” He looked down at his feet and frowned. Bilba followed his gaze and felt her gut clench.

There was no path, not even the dirt one she could swear they’d been walking on.

“What?” Kili said from a few feet away, “what happened? Where did the path go?”

Other voices broke out and Bilba could hear panic beginning to set in.

“Split up,” Thorin ordered. “It has to be close.”

“No!” Bilba shouted. “We need to stay together!”

She turned frantically, trying to think of a plan, anything that could help them find their location.

Her eyes landed on the tree she stood next to, slowly traveling up the trunk to where it vanished in the canopy.

“Up,” she whispered, “we need to go up!”

She grabbed Fili’s arm and pushed him toward the tree. “Give me a boost.”

He frowned at her but obeyed, kneeling and interlacing his fingers. As she looked at him Bilba noticed an oddly dazed look in his eyes and wondered if there wasn’t something to the feeling that the forest was actually out to get them.

She placed a foot in his palms and pushed off. Fili surged to his feet at the same time, thrusting her up high enough that she was able to grab the lowest branch.

After that it was a simple matter of scrambling up. Hobbits were practically born climbing trees and this one was easy with a number of footholds and places to rest. Before long her eyes began to sting as the ever present gloom gave way to bright, shining sun.

She burst through the top of the canopy, startling a number of brilliant blue butterflies that swirled up around her and flew away.

Bilba sighed in relief, happy to be away from the forest even if only for a moment.

Above the canopy Mirkwood didn’t look so bad, just another forest stretching off around them.

In the far off distance she could see the edge of the forest and, beyond that…Erebor.

An odd mix of fear and anticipation rose up in her. It was the first time she’d really SEEN the mountain and it brought home the fact that the quest she was on had an end point…and an end dragon.

It had been easy the past five months to forget what the entire goal of the quest was, to get lost in the travel…and the constant threat of nearly being eaten.

Now, however, it was RIGHT THERE.

What was she going to do?

Tearing her gaze away she angled back down toward the forest floor.

“I know where we are! Thorin! I can see Erebor!”

There was no answer but she didn’t think much of it. It was possible she was far too high for her voice to carry all the way down or for their voices to carry back up.

She started to make her way back down only to pause suddenly as a new wave of dizziness flooded over her. Black spots danced in her vision and she closed her eyes, clutching a branch and focused on breathing slowly, in through her nose and out through her mouth.

After a few moments the spell passed and she was able to resume climbing down, though much more carefully than before. The last thing she wanted was to fall out of the tree and die, it would be outright embarrassing not to mention rather anticlimactic.

She was nearing the bottom, and preparing to call out for Fili to help her down, when a noise made her come to a dead stop.

The sound came again, a hissing, chattering. Under her hands and feet the branch she was on vibrated with the unmistakable feel of something moving on it.

As carefully as possible, Bilba reached into her pocket and withdrew the magic ring. She’d not given it a thought since last using it against Azog, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten about it.

She slid it on her finger and the world immediately changed, darkening and growing faded.

It was not a moment too soon as the branch she was on jumped wildly. Bilba lunged back, pressing herself against the trunk just as a massive, hulking spider crawled past her.

Spiders. Why did it have to be spiders?

Fear crawled over her skin at the silence coming from the forest floor. After the spider was past she inched forward and looked over the edge.

No one was there but she could see Ori’s slingshot almost directly under her and Dwalin’s Warhammer a few feet away.

Her stomach clenched and a cold sweat broke out on her skin.

It lasted only a moment, however, before her eyes hardened and her jaw set in a firm line. She drew her sword and began to follow after the spider that had passed her.

It wasn’t taking her new family from her.

The spider scurried between trees, forcing Bilba to find her own way across. Several times she was forced to crouch on the end of a branch and leap to one on another tree. Bark sliced her legs and tore open welts and gashes on her hands, making the sword handle slick and difficult to hold.

Finally, however, she saw the spider climb a thin line of web into another tree and, there, there was clearly where she needed to go.

The tree was almost entirely webbed and absolutely crawling with spiders. Each one was easily the size of a warg, if not larger, with a thick stinger in the back and slender fangs. They skittered about the tree, many of them busily wrapping several long objects in layer after layer of webbing.

Bilba focused on those objects, many were small but others were larger.

Large enough to be dwarves in fact.

She counted and frowned as she realized she only saw twelve cocoons. Was someone missing or was it that the cocoons weren’t her friends at all?

One of the spiders started poking and prodding one of the cocoons and Bilba hissed in anger and frustration.

There was only one way to find out.

The trees were close enough to one another she was able to jump from the tree she was in to the spider’s tree without problem.

As soon as she was on she grimaced as the webbing caught at her, tangling on her arms and legs, sticking in her hair. Almost idly she pulled some off and used it to wipe the blood off her hands and the hilt of the sword. She wrapped more around her palms ensuring a stronger hold on her sword and stopping the bleeding at the same time.

She made her way in carefully, skirting the edges until she’d reached the spider that was currently poking and prodding at one of the cocoons.

Bilba hesitated for a brief moment, then gave a mental shrug and simply drove her sword straight into the creature’s side.

It shrieked a high pitched sound and, then, to her shock, spoke.

“It stings! It stings! What is it?”

It scrambled back and she followed it, stabbing the sword deep into its back and then kicking it off the branch. It fell through the webbing and hit the ground with a solid thunk.

Bilba studied her sword for a moment.

“Sting,” she said, “I like it.”

She turned back and found the rest of the spiders had stopped and were staring in shock at where their fellow had fallen.

“What is it?” one of them hissed.

“Who cares?” another said. “It tries to take our meal from us; we shall simply eat it too!”

Several scuttled forward.

“Oh,” Bilba said, “you want to eat us?”

She stepped forward and stabbed the nearest one as it approached, driving the sword into his skull until it reached nearly the hilt.

“Get in line.”

She smiled at her ring; it was definitely coming in handy.

She reached the cocoon the first spider had been messing with and cut it down with two swings. None of the spiders attempted to stop her as she sliced it open, pulling the strands apart to reveal Dwalin, his chest moving lightly in even breaths.

Bilba closed her eyes for a moment, relief flooding her.

Then she opened them and started lifting slapping Dwalin on the face.

“Come on,” she ordered, “I need you to get up, Dwalin, right now.”

Movement showed the spiders were slowly becoming restless, their desire to eat a large meal apparently overcoming their self-preservation.

Fear had her moving faster, shaking Dwalin hard. He mumbled something and his eyes flickered open.

“What?” He mumbled, “What’s going on? Who’s there?”

Several of the spiders skittered forward.

“We’re about to die,” Bilba snapped, “help me!”

She stood and lunged over his body, driving her newly named sword, Sting, into the forehead of the nearest spider. As it fell over the side her sword stuck for a moment and she cursed as it pulled at her, nearly taking her off the branch.

She barely recovered and turned to see all the spiders racing up on her.

“If you’re in front of me, lass,” Dwalin’s voice sounded from behind her, “Move.”

Bilba moved, leaping lightly to a nearby branch. “You’re clear.”

Dwalin flew past her with a roar, his axes spinning through the air. He cut through the spiders like they were butter. He didn’t even bother killing them, just cleared them off the branch and tree.

He was heading toward the nearest cocoon, Bilba realized. The spiders outnumbered them, the best chance they had was getting the others out.

She scrambled up to the nearest cocoon and began cutting it open. She soon had Nori out and with Dwalin.

The next two she rescued were Gloin and Bifur and she breathed a prayer of gratitude to the Valar. Dwalin, Gloin and Bifur were the most experienced warriors among them and the fact she found them so quickly would make a huge difference in the fight.

The fighting turned more in their favor after that, and more so still once she’d freed Fili and Kili, both of whom were accomplished fighters in their own right.

She found Ori next, his eyes dazed from whatever the spiders had pumped him full of. He didn’t even seem to be bothered by the fact an invisible person was helping him. Bilba got him up and moved him to the trunk of the tree, out of the battle as best she could. She didn’t dare take him down as that was where many of the spiders had been thrown and were even now rushing back up.

Standing up she ran her eyes over the dwarves – Dwalin and Balin fought back to back, Nori stood over Dori who was still recovering and she had Ori behind her. Bifur and, surprisingly, Bofur were slicing through the spiders like they were bored while Bombur was still unconscious nearby. Oin was crouched on a small branch near him, leaning over to check his pulse. Gloin stood over him on the same branch, easily warding off spiders that attempted to attack his brother.

Fili and Kili were outright enjoying themselves, huge smiles on their faces as they sliced and diced their way through the horde. All of them were proving to be surprisingly capable at fighting in trees, leaping from branch to branch, keeping their footing with ease. She remembered Dwalin’s insistence she learn to fight on different terrain and in every situation he could think of.

She would have to remember to thank him for that later.

She continued to look and, as she did, her smile began to fade.

She looked again, her eyes tracking over each dwarf before going to the tree overhead.

Where was Thorin?

“Fili!” she shouted. “I can’t find Thorin!”

“What?” He twisted around to look in the direction of her voice, his brother easily moving to protect him while he was distracted.

She saw his eyes move over the dwarves before going into the trees as well. Dwalin had also started looking as had many of the other members of the Company.

Thorin. Where was he?

Bilba turned to see how Ori was doing, planning to see if she could leave him to go look. She never got the chance, however, as a sudden movement from the side signified a spider flinging itself at her from a nearby branch.

She tried to jerk her sword up, stumbling backward, and two things happened simultaneously.

An arrow embedded itself in the spider’s head.

And Bilba felt her foot hit nothing but air as she fell right off the branch.

She barely bit back a scream as she fell. She felt webbing catch around her body, tangling her up and slowing her momentum. When she hit the ground it was hard enough to knock the breath out of her, and very painful as rocks and debris cut into her, but it wasn’t enough to cause serious harm.

She got to her feet carefully and immediately jerked back against the trunk as several forms rushed by her.

Elves.

She watched as they darted through the trees overhead and across the ground, their arrows taking the spiders down with little trouble.

This would be the second time they had been saved by elves.

Thorin would be so pissed.

Fear crawled at her spine. If she could find him.

Movement came from above her and she saw the others being forced down the tree by the elves, lined up in a group in the center of the small clearing they were in.

Bilba’s eyes narrowed and she pressed up tighter against the tree. What were these elves doing?

Once her dwarves were all lined up several elves drew arrows at them while a tall, redheaded woman drew her sword and held it at the ready.

A tall, blond elf strutted forward, his head held high in arrogance.

“Why are you here?”

Balin stepped forward, a smile on his face even as he struggled to catch his breath. “We are but simple travelers making our way to Lake-town to look for work. We lost our way and were trying to find it again.”

“Dwarves are not welcome here,” the blond said coldly, making the word dwarves sound like a curse.

Bilba raised an eyebrow. She had known Thorin and the others hated the elves but hadn’t realized it went both ways. Or at least it went both ways in Mirkwood.

The blond elf snapped something in Sindarin to the redhead that Bilba didn’t catch but, a moment later; the Company was being stripped of its weapons.

After that the elves surrounded them and proceeded to march them off into the woods.

Behind them, Bilba chewed on her lower, lip torn.

Could Thorin have already been captured by them? It would explain why they weren’t buying Balin’s story.

But what if they were just paranoid bastards? She looked back up into the trees where several, small cocoons still moved lightly in the breeze.

Feeling as though her heart were splitting in two she darted forward before she could change her mind, catching up easily and slipping between two of the guards. If Thorin had been captured she would see him again soon. If he hadn’t been then she would need the others to help her look for him. In either case it meant her best course of action was to go with Company.

She hoped.

She moved in between the dwarves, feeling them move without being obvious as they felt her body against theirs.

Fili and Kili were in the center and she settled herself on Fili’s left side, wrapping her hands around his bicep much as she’d been doing with Thorin.

Fili didn’t react to the feel of invisible hands but she saw his shoulders loosen minutely and his face lost some of its tenseness.

Bilba didn’t dare speak, knowing how well elves could hear.

Instead she stared about her, desperately seeking any sign of Thorin.

She never saw anything.

No movements in the bush to suggest he had seen what was happening and was tracking them.

No cocoons she’d missed in the trees as far as she could see.

No sign of his weapons or clothing.

Thorin was simply gone.

 

 

 


	34. Chapter 34

“He isn’t ANYWHERE! Why can’t I find him?”

Bilba sank to her knees on the last word, her voice catching in a sob. She reached out to grab the bars of the cell she knelt in front of, her fingers curling around them so hard it was a wonder they didn’t break.

Three weeks.

Three WEEKS since the Company had been dragged in, stripped of their armor and weapons and shoved into individual cells.

Balin had taken it as a good sign, stating the fact no one had come to question them meant Thorin must be there, somewhere, being questioned in their stead.

So Bilba had searched.

She had looked in other cells and rooms, walked down long hallways, through the throne room and investigated the kitchens. She’d been forced to wear her ring to avoid detection but, even with the washed out grays, there was no disguising the splendor of the place. At any other time she’d have been in awe.

Now all she could see was Thorin, lost and bleeding in the forest, wrapped in a cocoon in some obscure part of the tree where she hadn’t looked. All she could see was him in pain, SUFFERING, begging for someone to come find him.

All she could feel was the same pain she had felt lying in the cave with her dead parents, praying someone, anyone would find her.

All she could remember was the despair when no one had.

And overlying all that was the guilt, pushed aside only to now come surging back to life in light of another failure.

Every time she closed her eyes in some obscure corner or nook she saw Bungo, her mother, her father, Atherton and everyone else she’d ever failed to save. She’d woken up screaming so many times it was a wonder the elves had not found her on that basis alone.

“I missed him,” she sobbed now, her head bent so far down it nearly touched the floor even as she left her arms up, gripping the door of the cell. “He was in the tree, he must have been and I MISSED him.”

“Bilba.” Fili’s voice was commanding, none of the laughter or glee he normally expressed.

Fingers slid through the bars from the inside, wrapping around her hands as best as possible.

“Bilba,” Fili said again, “look at me. BILBA.”

She raised her head. She’d taken off the ring at his insistence and knew by the look on his face she must look even worse than she felt.

Now he locked eyes with her, pressing as close to the door on his side as he could.

“He wasn’t in the tree, Bilba.”

“The one next to it--”

“NO.” Fili looked at her until he was sure she was paying attention. “He wasn’t with the spiders, Bilba. They never took him.”

He had told her that before. Thorin hadn’t heard, or listened, to her when she’d talked about climbing the trees. He’d gone with his original plan of splitting up and the last anyone had seen of him he’d been striding confidently into the trees. The others had been too dazed by the aura of the forest to stop him and the spiders had attacked only moments later.

Still, if there had been more spiders in the forest, if one had grabbed him and dragged him to another tree…

“Stop thinking like that,” Fili ordered his voice sharp.

Bilba flinched. She struggled to gain control over herself, her breath hitching in her throat. Her hands on the bars shook and she leaned forward weakly, resting her head on the door.

“Have you been eating enough?”

“You would know,” Bilba replied dully. It had been Fili who’d realized that, hiding as she was, she had little to no access to food. They were brought food on regular schedules and had taken to hiding portions away until after the guards had removed their plates and cups. After that Bilba would come and they would pass the food out to her. She was on her own for water but the place had plenty of fountains so it hadn’t been an issue.

Bilba didn’t have the heart to tell him that, for the most part, she’d been unable to keep the food down for the past week and a half. The torture of not knowing what had happened to Thorin was every bit as bad as what she’d felt for her parents. It had taken months for her to come to terms with it and, even then, it had never fully faded. As bad as the truth had been when she’d remembered it she would take it over the agony of not knowing.

At least with her family she knew they weren’t suffering.

“I still say he’s here,” Balin’s voice came from a nearby cell. “There’s no other reason for Thranduil to keep us here for so long. He hasn’t bothered to say so much as a single word to any of us, why?”

“Because he’s a bastard?” Bilba asked tiredly.

She’d seen him once or twice, striding through the halls in his long robes and ridiculous crown. A few times she’d seen the blond elf who’d captured them with him, their form and features so alike they could only have been father and son.

She wanted to scream at them, to demand to know where Thorin was. To do so would be to give herself away, however, and would most likely only get her thrown in a cell with the others.

“Have you been watching the kitchens?” Kili’s voice came from the cell right next to Fili’s, his voice tired. They were all tired. Being forced to sit in a small cell with nothing to do for hours and days and weeks on end was its own form of torture, even without the worry she knew the rest of them shared over Thorin.

“I told you already,” Bilba said, her voice flat. “I’ve followed them all, they lead nowhere.”

She had spent days following food as it left the kitchen. She’d stake the place out at breakfast, lunch and dinner and follow meals as they left. She’d found Thranduil and his son usually ate together while many of the guards ate at their posts. The meals the dwarves were given came from the same kitchens as well.

The cruelest event had happened just a short while ago when she’d found a servant with a single tray of food clearly intended for just one person. She’d trailed him, her excitement and hope mounting with each step.

He’d finally reached a small room, knocked and entered. Bilba had trailed behind and felt her hopes shattered as the servant presented the meal to an elf.

Even in her despair, Bilba found herself momentarily entranced by him. She was positive she’d never seen him before for there was no way she’d have forgotten him if she had. His body was lithe and strong and, while his face was young, his eyes held an unfathomable wisdom. His hair was long and golden; trailing down his back and mingling with the golden armor he wore. His skin, where she could see it, seemed to glow with a soft inner light and his voice, when he thanked the servant, was melodic.

It was only when he, for a brief second, turned his eyes in her direction that despair crashed back on her for the strange elf had eyes every bit as blue as Thorin’s and grief nearly overwhelmed her at the fear she would never see them again.

She had fled from the room and gone straight to the cells where she now knelt, struggling to gain control of herself. Her stomach roiled and clenched, threatening to expel the little she had managed to get down that day.

“—different rotation.”

She frowned and looked at Fili. “What?”

“I said,” he repeated, “maybe they bring food to Uncle on a different rotation. Why don’t you try staking the kitchen out for the entire day?”

“It’s also possible there’s more than one kitchen,” Bombur’s voice came from a cell on a level over their heads, “it’s a big place after all.”

Bilba studied Fili, her eyes tracing over the rumpled state of his clothes, the halfheartedly completed braids in his hair.

“Do you really believe he’s here?” she asked a plea in her voice.

Fili’s hands tightened around hers on the bar and he leaned forward until his forehead rested opposite hers.

“I do.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Bilba whispered, her voice so low only he could hear.

He didn’t respond, just ducked his head with a sigh, his eyes going to the floor.

Bilba adjusted her grip and pushed to her feet. For a second she swayed, black spots dancing in her vision, but she caught herself and straightened.

She let out one last shuddering breath and slid the ring back on her finger, the world snapping into what was quickly becoming an all too familiar washed out gray.

She went back to the kitchens. Once inside she found a small nook near the back and squeezed herself in. It was just past lunch and not yet time for dinner so there was little activity going on. Briefly she considered looking for some scraps but then changed her mind as her stomach rebelled at the thought. A day or two earlier she’d scrounged around until she’d found a few pieces of cheese. Normally she loved cheese but the mere sight of it had set her gagging, revulsion clawing up her throat.

Apparently her tastes had changed, along with her stress level. She knew full well she was making herself ill but couldn’t seem to turn it off. It was her family all over again, not to mention the rest of the Company locked up for Valar who knew how long and her being forced to hide and keep away from the elves.

Exhaustion tugged at her and she leaned back against the wall of the small alcove. Maybe she’d rest for just a second or two. It was unlikely anything important would happen in the next few hours and, even if it did and she missed it, she’d be back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the one after that.

Despair settled over her and she drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

She fell asleep at some point after that, falling into a fitful, if thankfully dreamless, sleep.

She woke to darkness.

Bilba blinked in confusion. She’d apparently slept incredibly deeply and, for a moment, felt as though she were pulling herself out of molasses. Given the silence and cold around her it would appear she’d somehow managed to sleep right through the preparation of dinner and straight into the night.

She was fortunate no one had stumbled across her.

She started to turn, the others would be worried that she hadn’t shown up for dinner, and very nearly shrieked to find herself face to face with the elf she’d seen eating alone earlier.

He grinned. “Ah, my wraith finally awakes. I was beginning to think you’d sleep forever.”

Bilba gaped at him. As before a soft glow seemed to emanate from his skin, it would probably go unnoticed in full sun and had been subtle when she’d seen him in his room. Here, in the dark, it was brighter, lighting his skin and cascading through his hair.

She held her breath and stayed still, praying he’d get bored and go away. As she did she noticed he was sitting cross legged before her alcove with his sword out and laid across his lap.

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t really think that’s going to work do you?”

It was a testament to how tired she was that it wasn’t until that very moment that it occurred to Bilba she was seeing him as though she were not wearing the ring, no washed out color, no gray cast. She looked down frantically to find that, yes, she was still wearing the ring and, yes, the rest of the world around her was still washed out and gray.

“Ah, it’s that ring then is it?” He leaned forward, studying her with those confounded blue eyes of his. “I thought you were a bit small to be a true wraith but you never can tell these days.” He sighed, “There are many magic rings in the world, you know, and most of them aren’t meant to be worn for extended stretches. How long have you been wearing yours?”

She didn’t answer him. It was none of his business how long she’d been wearing HER ring.

He shifted and stood up, sheathing his sword easily. He then proceeded to hold a hand out toward her.

“Come on then.”

Bilba hesitated. He made an exasperated sound and knelt. Reaching in he slid a hand into hers and gently pulled until she was forced to scramble out and stand next to him.

Without letting go of her hand he proceeded to turn and walk out of the kitchen, bringing her along with him.

The torches in the halls were dim but there were still a number of elves out and about. Bilba expected him to turn her over to one of them but he didn’t, simply nodding at them as they passed. She wondered if any of them were curious as to why he appeared to be holding hands with something they couldn’t see but not one of them commented and he didn’t seem to care. In fact every elf they passed stopped whatever they were doing and gave a respectful bow until he had passed by.

They didn’t stop until they’d arrived back at his rooms, where the elf turned and shut the doors behind him once they’d gone in.

As soon as they were closed Bilba, without thinking, blurted, “Why are you wearing armor in here? Isn’t it safe enough?”

“Says the person wearing the invisibility ring,” came the dry response. He gave a languid shrug, “You can never be too careful.”

He leaned against the door casually. “Are you going to take the ring off now or keep pretending I can’t see you?”

Bilba sighed. She reached down and tugged the ring off, sliding it into a pocket. When she looked up again the elf’s eyes were narrowed and there was a tense set to his jaw.

“As I thought,” he muttered. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I’ve eaten,” Bilba mumbled. She slid her arms across her chest and focused on the floor. “I just can’t keep it down.”

“Why not?”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes and she clenched her hands into fists, fingers digging into her palms. She looked at the floor and drew in a shaky breath, struggling to control herself.

Footsteps sounded across the floor and then the elf knelt on one leg before her.

“What is it, little one?” He asked his voice gentle. “What has you so distraught?”

“I can’t FIND him,” Bilba blurted, her voice catching on a sob. “I can’t FIND him and he could be hurt or dead or needing my help and he might have been right there and I MISSED him. He isn’t ANYWHERE and – and--”

Her voice trailed off helplessly on a sob and put a forearm over her eyes, embarrassed at breaking down, and in front of a stranger no less.

Hands gripped her shoulders and warmth rushed over her, followed closely by a sense of calm and peace. Bilba felt control returning to her and lifted her face to find his eyes mere inches from hers.

“Who is it you seek?” he asked.

“Thorin,” Bilba answered instantly, though she couldn’t explain why she told him. “I can’t FIND him.”

His features hardened for a moment with something like anger, though she had a feeling it wasn’t directed at her.

“Come with me,” he said, holding his hand out once more. “You’ll probably need that ring of yours again.”

Bilba frowned in confusion but obediently retrieved the ring and put it on. She felt calmer than she had in weeks, though her stomach still worked against her, and she took his hand without hesitation.

He led her back out of the room and through the halls. They took a route that was familiar to her at first but quickly became unfamiliar, going through doors and around corners and up only to turn and go back down again. It was a maze that she doubted she could retrace on her own. Eventually she noticed they were going steadily lower and also that she could smell the faintest hint of water.

“Is there a river down here?”

He looked down at her in surprise. “You can smell it already? I hadn’t realized the Shirelings had that developed a sense of smell.”

She shrugged.

“There is a river,” he replied. “It runs all the way to the town the Men inhabit. Thranduil uses it to exchange goods.”

That brought the slightest twinge of interest. By this time they were on a flight of stairs she’d never seen, it moved in a loose loop, twirling down further and further. “The town of Men? Do you mean Lake-town?”

He nodded. “Indeed. Though why Men would seek to stay in the shadow of a dragon is beyond me.” He grinned at her. “There is no explaining the decisions of Men sometimes. I’ve long given up trying.”

“Who are you?” Bilba asked, startled to realize she hadn’t yet asked. “You’re not the King. I’ve seen him.”

“Tell you what,” he responded. “I’ll tell you who I am if you tell me who you are, and where you got that ring you carry.”

“I’ll consider it,” Bilba answered, “it depends on where we’re going.”

He gave her a look of approval. “You’ll see in a moment. I think you’ll be quite happy with our destination.”

She glowered at him and didn’t answer.

They reached the bottom finally. As they stepped off the stairs onto wooden flooring she could hear the sound of rushing water from under her feet. The room itself was large and well lit, filled with barrels and racks of wine and food.

“Once I distract them just go through the door, it isn’t locked.”

She looked up at him in confusion, “what?”

He ignored her. “I’ll come back in an hour or so to retrieve you. I imagine your mood will be much improved by then.”

Before she could reply he stepped forward, pulling her along. They rounded a corner and she saw, at the end of the room, a large closed door. Two elves stood on either side of it, both in full armor and wearing swords.

It was almost like they were guarding the door.

Bilba felt her breath pick up. It couldn’t be.

The elf had released her hand and approached the two guards, speaking easily to them in Sindarin. The two elves both responded eagerly, looking in awe at the other elf. Bilba listened as he explained he’d been unable to sleep and, feeling they would be as bored as he was, had come to invite them to a card game and a drink. One of the guards mentioned they needed to watch the door to which the reply was they didn’t have to go far and wasn’t the prisoner restrained?

The prisoner.

Bilba staggered as her heart literally wrenched in her chest. She put a hand on the wall, bracing herself as her legs went weak.

Her elf led the two guards away, off toward a further section of the room, around a corner and out of sight.

Bilba wasted no time, scrambling to the door. Once there she grabbed the handle and then paused as her body locked up on her in fear. What if it was all just a cruel trick? What if she opened the door and the room beyond was empty?

“Please,” she whispered, “oh please.”

She pulled the door open, grateful for the first time for elven architecture that caused it to slide open without a sound.

Light spilled into the room beyond, revealing what had probably once been a small pantry, now emptied and bare.

At the very back sat a figure, his legs pulled up, arms draped over them and head down. Thick manacles were locked around both wrists, heavy chains leading back into the walls.

He didn’t look up as the door opened though she saw his body tense.

“What do you want?” A familiar baritone growled and Bilba felt her heart stop in her chest. “Back to mock me in my despair?”

“No,” Bilba whispered, “never.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide. Bilba took the ring off, stepped forward and shut the door behind her. Darkness dropped over her but she didn’t need light to make it the few feet to where Thorin was.

She stumbled over his feet but then his hands were grabbing her, chains clanking in the dim space. He dragged her forward and she flung herself over his lap, scrambling up to grab his hair and kiss him hard enough to taste blood as she split her lip on his teeth.

He kissed her back just as hard, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her against his chest.

Pulling back she pressed her forehead against his and made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I thought you were DEAD. I couldn’t FIND you.”

“They wouldn’t tell me anything,” Thorin answered, his own voice shaky. “I didn’t know if any of you were here or if you were still lost in the forest.”

“We’re all here,” Bilba said, tears now streaming freely down her face. “All of us, everyone is fine.”

Thorin let out a breath and she felt his entire body relax as though a great weight had lifted. “Thank Mahal.”

He kissed her again after that and, for quite a while, it was all they did. Every so often Bilba’s mind would inform her she only had an hour and really needed to stop, only to have her heart kindly tell her mind to shut up already.

Finally it was Thorin who pulled back, but only to arrange her so she sat sideways on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and she curled up against him, tucking her head under his chin and resting against his chest.

“You’ve lost weight,” he said, his voice rumbling against her cheek.

“So have you,” she responded. She sighed and let herself go completely limp, all the tension flooding out of her. “What happened?”

As it turned out Thorin had never seen the spiders at all. He’d marched off into the woods to find the path and had soon stumbled upon a patrol of elves. They’d captured him and, going off the assumption he wasn’t alone, had gone off to search for his companions. That explained how they’d shown up so conveniently to capture them. She should have realized it at the time but she’d been so worried about him it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder how the patrol had just so happened to come across them so soon after Thorin had vanished.

“Lucky you,” Bilba said, “You missed the spiders.”

“Spiders?”

“They tried to eat us.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“No, though it gives credence to the idea that it might not JUST be you after all.” She curled in tighter against him and felt his arms tighten as well in response. “On a brighter note, I imagine they were going to try and suck all our blood out so that’s new.”

“Hmmm,” he said, his voice amused. “At least they’re getting creative now.”

“Indeed,” Bilba replied, “it would just be insulting otherwise.”

“It would,” Thorin agreed, “imagine the insult to the line of Durin if everything that tried to eat us barely put any thought into it.”

“Precisely, you’d probably have to declare a war over it.” Bilba could feel sleep tugging at her again, true sleep this time and not the fitful, nightmare plagued sleep she’d had the last three weeks. “You know, I believe I’ll write a book when this is all over.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” Bilba said with a yawn. “Do you know what I’ll call it?”

“What?”

“Things in Middle Earth that DON’T Want to Eat You.”

“I imagine it will be short.”

“Undoubtedly,” Bilba said. Her eyes were closed and she could feel herself drifting. “Probably only a page or two. Saves time that way.”

She sighed and snuggled in, allowing herself to succumb to sleep. She knew she had little time but didn’t care. For this moment at least everything was perfect.

She was content.

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to Drenagon, my excellent beta, for the portrayal of Thranduil. I love her depiction of him in "History Teaches Us" and it definitely influenced how I wrote him in my story!

“I give you my word, she will not come to harm.”

Bilba stirred and blinked blearily. For the second time she woke to find the strange elf kneeling in front of her, though this time she felt a thousand times more refreshed and aware.

Looking up she saw Thorin with his head up, resting back against the wall. He still held her on his lap, one knee and arm supporting her back while the other leg stretched out straight and his other arm lay across her lap.

He looked every inch a blooded King, even in chains. Bilba spent so much time with him slogging through mud and escaping death that she sometimes forgot that King under the Mountain wasn’t just a name or random title he liked to use.

She looked toward her elf and saw, behind him, the two guards standing at the door, their eyes wide with shock. Bilba stiffened, her hands tightening on Thorin’s shirt and she heard him actually growl.

“You’ve done a poor job of it so far.”

Her elf shrugged. “I only just found her, her condition can hardly be laid at my feet. I will see to it that she is cared for from now on, however.”

“Her condition can be laid at her own feet,” Bilba said in annoyance. “I can take care of myself you know.”

Thorin and the elf she was beginning to think of as Ridiculously Pretty Elf both looked at her.

“Yes,” Thorin said, his voice dry, “I can see how well you’ve been taking care of yourself.”

Bilba rolled her eyes and then leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed her back possessively, releasing her when she pulled away but not without sending a challenging look at her elf.

Bilba got up and obediently followed the elf to the door, skirting to stay close to him and away from the guards who were still giving her dumbfounded looks.

As she crossed the threshold one of the guards went to close the door only to have Bilba put her hand on it.

“Leave it open.”

The guard frowned, opening his mouth to say something, so Bilba dismissed him and turned to her elf. She’d seen him given deferential treatment so surely it meant he had SOME power, right?

“Please?” She knew full well she was small, even for a Hobbit, and the last few weeks had made her thinner and frailer looking. Her clothing, tattered and pieced together as it was, probably only added to the overall waif look and she played it up, clasping her hands in front of her and gazing up at the elf.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Thorin had his head lowered somewhat to hide a smirk, though his eyes looked up at her in amusement.

From the amused look in the elf's eyes he wasn’t the least bit fooled by her act but she didn’t let it stop her.

“He’s already chained,” she insisted, “why does the door have to be shut? Please? Just leave it open.”

The elf’s eyes tracked to Thorin and then to the guards.

“Why has the door been kept closed?”

One of the guards flinched and began to stammer. “Well…you see…it’s the dwarf….he--”

“He’s quite rude,” the other guard cut in, “we had to close the door just to shut him up.”

“Not that it helps,” the first one muttered. “His voice carries through wood quite well.”

Bilba turned to face Thorin who now had his head up and was outright smirking, pride shining in his eyes.

Bilba bit her lower lip, hard, but was unable to fully pull back her own smile.

“Thorin,” she said calmly.

“Yes, Bilba?” he answered, sounding inordinately pleased if not outright gleeful.

“If I can convince them to keep the door open do you promise you’ll keep your opinions to yourself?”

“Even if they’re true?”

“Especially if they’re true.”

He considered. He already looked radically different from the slumped, despondent form she’d seen when she first opened the door. Learning she and the others were safe had clearly revitalized him and, if anything, would probably make him worse. She wondered how the guards would react if she mentioned any insults Thorin had leveled at them had most likely been half-hearted as he wallowed in despair and worry over the fate of his people.

Thorin inclined his head slightly to her.

“I give you my word. I shall refrain from showing my feelings toward our…hosts.”

“It would probably be best if you refrain from speaking at all,” Bilba said cheekily. Thorin was not the only one whose mood had been dramatically improved.

Her elf nodded at one of the guards who gave a shaky nod in return. “The door will be left open.”

“It should have been left open in the first place,” her elf said, the slightest hint of reproach in his voice. “Bad manners on the part of a prisoner are no excuse for cruelty.”

Both guards had the decency to look ashamed, focusing on their feet and mumbling apologies.

Her elf turned and swept from the room and Bilba hurried after him, catching up just as he reached the stairs and moved in front of him to stop him.

He looked down at her, amusement in his eyes. “Is there something else?”

“Yes,” Bilba said. She dropped into a polite curtsey, “Bilba Baggins at your service.” She stood back up and stepped forward, reaching out to grab one of his hands in both of hers. “Thank you, thank you so much. You have no idea how much this meant to me.”

He studied her, taking in the new light in her eyes, the bounce in her step and the sudden straightness of her spine. “I think I might have an idea.” He stepped back and gave a slight bow of his own. “Glorfindel, originally of Gondolin, most recently of Rivendell.”

Bilba gaped at him. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

“Glorfindel,” she finally said, her voice stunned, “THE Glorfindel?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware there was a THE Glorfindel but I am Glorfindel.”

He began walking up the stairs again and she scrambled to catch up to him.

“You’re like a walking history book!” She exclaimed, “My mother used to tell me stories about you all the time! You’re a legend! You killed a Balrog!”

“There are others who have killed Balrogs,” he replied, “my feat was not so very special.”

Bilba stopped again in front of him on the stairs. “But it was,” she said, “you DIED and were sent back again. You’re--” She stopped, her mind racing through all the things her mother had told her. Stories of Tuor and Ecthelion, of great wars and fallen heroes. “You’re amazing,” she finished finally, lamely, knowing there was no way to put what she actually felt for this…HERO of old into words.

Glorfidel sighed and knelt until he was at eye level with her.

“You want to know what I learned from that battle with the Balrog?”

Bilba’s eyes widened. “What?”

He reached up and lightly tugged on her hair, which was currently tied back in a messy bun. It had grown overlong again, down to just past her shoulders and the only reason she hadn’t cut it off again was because Thorin had said he wanted to braid it, not that they’d had the time or that she’d bothered to remind him since doing so would make their relationship official to the rest of the Company.

“I learned,” Glorfindel said seriously, “to keep my hair under a helmet.”

Bilba frowned in confusion. “What?”

He just gave her a dry look in response and straightened, walking up the stairs.

“And, as I said, I wasn’t the only one to fight a Balrog,” he continued conversationally. “A friend of mine fought their Chief and stabbed him with the spike on his helmet.”

“Ecthelion,” Bilba whispered, “I’d heard that story but it seemed so outlandish I never knew if it was true or exaggerated.”

“It was true,” Glorfindel whispered, his face twisted in sadness and his voice tinged in sorrow. “He was a dear friend.”

Bilba was silent. She remembered the story, how Ecthelion had leapt at Gothmog, wrapped his legs around him, stabbed him with the spike and driven them both into a fountain where they had perished together.

As they walked up the stairs she found herself remembering the rest of the story, and one part in particular.

“Dragons,” she whispered. She looked up at him in excitement. “You fought dragons!”

“A few,” Glorfindel acknowledged, “though fought may be too strong a word. With a dragon the best course of action is usually to get out of its way.”

“But you must know how to kill one!” Bilba insisted. “I’d heard the only way is a black arrow but--”

“A myth,” Glorfindel said, “black arrows are merely the easiest way to kill them, if any way can be called easy. Another myth is that dragons have impenetrable skin, they have weaknesses as any living creature.”

“Like what?” Bilba said. Her heart raced in excitement. Perhaps their quest wasn’t so hopeless after all.

“Their eyes are not armored,” came the reply, “nor are the muscles that connect their wings to their body or the membrane of the wings themselves.”

Hope faded. Getting at any of those areas would be a thousand times harder than a black arrow. If she couldn't find the arken-whatever-it-was or if she woke up the dragon in the process they were all doomed.  

Glorfindel stopped, his eyes turning to her with the ageless wisdom thing in full effect.

“Is that what this is all about then? You plan to challenge the dragon?”

“Well not ME, personally,” Bilba said, “I hope.” She gave him a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you would be interested in going after a dragon would you?”

“I’m afraid I have more pressing concerns to deal with,” he answered, “I’m on my way back to Rivendell.”

“From where?” Bilba asked in surprise, wondering what in the world could be more pressing than a dragon.

He hesitated. “A…scouting mission you could say. A close friend of mine asked me to do it and I could not tell him no. I came through Mirkwood to advise Thranduil on my way back. I only just arrived yesterday and plan to leave in a few hours.”

He’d started walking once more and Bilba hurried to catch up.

“Which friend?” she asked curiously.

“Olorin,” Glorfindel answered. “I believe you know him better as Gandalf the Gray.”

Bilba started in surprise. Gandalf had asked him to travel all the way out here? Her mind went to the way Gandalf had left and she realized that now made two people who had decided something else in Middle Earth was more important than possibly pissing off a dragon.

A cold finger of dread wrapped around her spine.

“What is happening?” she whispered. “What’s going on that’s so bad it requires the attention of you and Gandalf?”

He gave her a tense look and she saw a deep weariness in his eyes. “Something Gandalf and I were sent to prevent, and prevent it we will if it is possible.” He smiled at her. “Do not worry, young one, we will set things to rights.”

Then why are YOU so worried? Bilba thought.

They reached the top of the stairs and began to walk back through the twisting maze of corridors and rooms.

“Will the guards tell Thranduil about me?” She asked suddenly.

Glorfindel nodded. “I imagine they already have. There is more than one way out of that room after all.”

Bilba shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Are you taking me to a cell then?”

He smiled at her. “I had been thinking of offering you a bath and a change of clothes. If you really want a cell, however, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

Bilba looked up at him with something close to adoration in her eyes and he laughed in response, his face lightening from the worries he carried for just a moment.

She followed him eagerly after that and, true to his word, he led her to an enormous, heated pool complete with a cascading waterfall in the center and left her there with a promise of sending someone with clothing after she was done.

Bilba felt a twinge of guilt over getting to take a bath while her friends and Thorin languished in cells but it vanished almost the second her toe hit the water. With a groan of pure happiness she sank into the steaming water and relaxed. For a while she simply lay against the edge, letting the hot water soak into her muscles, loosening the knots placed there by weeks of worry and months of travel.

Finally she gave in and began to wash, using the soap left for her by the side of the large pool. She cleaned herself thoroughly and then scrubbed her hair, unbinding it from its bun and lathering it up multiple times before she was happy with it. It felt thicker and fuller than it had ever been before and took longer than she'd expected to wash.  

Soft footsteps heralded the arrival of a young elf maiden. She smiled at Bilba and set a bundle of clothing down before retreating.

Getting out of the bath, Bilba dried off and then went to the bundle, pleased to find it was several different outfits of various sizes, styles and cuts. Glorfindel must have raided the closets of several elf children in order to find them. She settled on a dress of a deep green color with gold threading through it. It was a bit big on her but still felt a thousand times better than the stained, ragged clothing she'd been wearing, particularly since she'd managed to lose the pack Beorn had given her with the extra clothing in it. It seemed her lot in life to constantly lose her supplies. Various ribbons had been added to the pile and she selected gold and a green one, using them to bind her hair back into a thick ponytail. Usually, when it was grown out it was curly and out of control. Now, however, it had apparently decided to have mercy on her as it hung in soft, shiny waves. Bilba finished tying off the ribbon and let her hair drop on her back, if it kept up like this she might just consider leaving it longer.

Finally she stood up and stepped to the door. Walking through it she saw Glorfindel several yards further down the hall, leaning against the wall. She flushed in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know you were waiting.”

“It’s all right,” he said, pushing off the wall and approaching. He smiled down at her. “You look as though you feel much better.”

“I do,” Bilba said, giving him a blinding smile.

He smiled in return. “The dwarf chooses wisely,” he said mildly. Then, before she could respond to that cryptic comment he nodded down the hall. “Thranduil has expressed an interest in meeting the intruder I refuse to let anyone near. Would you care to join me for breakfast with him?”

Remembering his comment about leaving Bilba frowned. “Do I have a choice?”

“We all have choices,” Glorfindel replied. “Some are just better than others.”

He was definitely a friend of Gandalf’s, Bilba thought dryly. Her mind went to her friends, and Thorin, locked up in their cells, separated from one another and she felt anger beginning to creep up. She had a few things she would dearly like to say to the elven king and there was no better time than the present, particularly when Glorfindel was still there and would probably keep her from getting summarily executed or locked up for the rest of her life.

He started off down the hall again and she fell in alongside him. It was strange, after all these weeks, to find herself passing elves who had previously not seen her but now looked at her with startled expressions on their faces.

The reactions seemed to remind Glorfindel of the same fact as he commented, “You still haven’t mentioned how you came to have a ring that confers invisibility.”

Bilba shrugged. “I found it in a cave in the Misty Mountains. Are magic objects so rare that it’s a novelty? I know Gandalf once gave a gift to someone in the Shire of diamond studs that only unfastened when the wearer wished it and I’ve heard tale of other magic objects from time to time.”

“Call it curiosity,” Glorfindel said, “the last magical objects I saw were a talking purse and talking sword. Rings are rare, their owners generally guard them jealousy.”

“As will I,” Bilba said, guilt pricking at her, “for the ring has helped me greatly in times of need and I would really rather not show it around if that’s all right with you.”

He could easily take the ring from her and they both knew it but he only inclined his head slightly. “As you wish.”

He seemed to become lost in his thoughts after that, no doubt thinking over whatever mission had brought him out to Mirkwood and beyond and they walked the rest of the way in silence. Bilba felt it was probably only this concern that caused him to lose interest in the ring and for that she was glad. It was HER ring after all and she didn’t like the thought of anyone else showing an interest in it.

Still, the guilt lingered over her treatment of him, especially given how much he had done for her.

They finally reached a long corridor that wound its way deep into the inner part of the kingdom, far away from any other rooms or areas with any foot traffic. Here there were guards stationed every so often, dressed in full armor and standing rigidly at attention.

They rounded a corner and Bilba found herself facing a large set of ornately, carved wooden doors. Glorfindel announced himself and she heard a languid voice from inside bid them enter.

Two guards, stationed on either side of the doors, pushed them open and they walked in. As they passed by Bilba noticed one of the guards was the redheaded female elf she remembered from the forest.

The chamber inside was huge, carved from what looked like white marble with graceful arches and spires. On an elevated platform set off to one side was an elaborate round bed dressed with velvet and furs. The center of the room had a large fireplace built into it and another area, to her surprise, held several musical instruments including a flute and a harp.

Thranduil lounged at the head of a long, silver table set on a lower dais a few feet away. As always he was dressed in a ridiculous number of flowing layers that she was convinced explained why she generally saw him seated; he was trying to cut down on tripping incidents.

A few chairs away she saw the blond elf, proving he most likely was a son as she’d first suspected.

Thranduil gave her a bored look, not bothering to get up as they approached. “So,” he began to say, his voice deep and rich, “this is the Halfling.”

"Hobbit," Bilba said, her ire rising even more. "We aren't half of anything."

He looked amused. "My apologies. Given the company you apparently keep I should have guessed your manners would be equally lacking."

Something in Bilba's mind snapped, her temper overwhelming her.

"MY manners?" She hissed, clenching her hands into fists. "And what of YOUR manners? You are the King of the Woodland Realm, an elf no less, and you are CRUEL." She saw his eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring in anger and continued before he could cut her off. "How could you not tell us you had Thorin? How could you not tell THORIN you had us? Do you have any idea how worried I – we all were? Where was your compassion?"

Thranduil surged to his feet, advancing on her. As he did hands grabbed her shoulders from behind and she was pulled back against an armored chest. The message was clear though it did not stop Thranduil from continuing until he was in her face.

"Do not presume to tell me how to behave in my own home," he stated, his voice like ice. "Your precious dwarf is the one who should learn to watch his steps rather than offering insult at the earliest opportunity."

"And do you blame him?" Bilba shot back, even as warning bells went off in her head. After all, Glorfindel had stated he was leaving in a few hours so not pissing off Thranduil would probably be an excellent idea.

Unfortunately she never had been one to know when to shut up and it would appear her association with Thorin had not helped.

"You refused to come to Erebor's aid with the dragon! You were supposed to be allies! How can you expect him not to carry anger over that?"

"Going against the dragon would have been suicide!" Thranduil all but roared. Behind him she saw his son jump in his seat, his eyes wide. "If you knew anything you would know I DID come and brought an entire host with me. I heard Erebor was under seige and set out at once. It was only after I arrived that I saw the cause was a dragon and it had already taken up residence." He straightened, his eyes glittering. "There was nothing to be done, Erebor was already lost." His voice quieted, though it lost none of its steel. "The mountain and the gold within could be replaced, the lives of my people could not."

He turned and began to walk away, back toward his chair. Bilba started to step after him but stopped as the hands on her shoulders tightened in warning.

"And what about Thorin's people?" She asked. Thranduil stopped but did not turn. "Do you have any idea how many of them starved to death in the journey to try and find a new home? To find work?"

She knew. She had spoken to Dori and Oin and others who had been children on the long march. Thorin did not speak of it but the others told her about the bitter cold at night, the empty bellies and parched throat. They spoke of the graves littering the sides of the road, of weeping mothers having to be dragged from the corpses of their children.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. "You say life is far more important but you stood by and allowed so much pain. Can't you understand his anger COMES from that pain? How could you do nothing?"

The son was now staring wide eyed at his father. Behind her Glorfindel was silent, all she could feel was his chest rising and falling in measured breaths against her back.

Thranduil turned and Bilba started. She'd expected to see more anger, perhaps her him shout at her.

"They were not Oakenshield's people then," he said and, there, in his eyes she saw the slightest hint of grief. "They were Thror's."

"I don't understand," Bilba said. Her own anger was fading as looked at him. Her eyes strayed, for a moment, to the son once more and it occurred to her that, in order for him to have been in the group that captured them, it meant he'd been out on patrol instead of lounging about the Palace. Even now she could see the younger elf was fit, in excellent shape, and armed as was his father. This was a King or a Prince who lazed about while others did their work for them. She'd also seen the son interacting with other elves and had noticed he always spoke to them with respect and always got it in return.

It would seem an odd contradiction, that one like him could come from being raised by one like Thranduil.

Unless, of course, she was wrong in her opinion of the King of the Woodland Realm.

Thranduil's voice broke into her thoughts, his voice cool. "Do you not wonder how it was, if I were so set against them, that they made it through my domain safely?"

Bilba blinked in surprise. She had honestly never thought about it. Truly, though, the safest way into the rest of Middle Earth would have been straight through Mirkwood.

"Thror came to me," Thranduil continued, "under pretext of asking for safe passage through the woods, which I granted." He stopped, his eyes looking away from her and off to some random point in the room. When he spoke again his voice was heavy with memory. "I also offered him aid, food and shelter for his people, as much as I could spare until they could regain their footing. Though our alliance had suffered in recent years I was willing to let it go for the sake of his people."

"I didn't know that," Bilba whispered, her mind whirling. She did know of the soured alliance. Thorin had admitted his grandfather had not been kind to Thranduil as the sickness he'd seen in him had taken a greater hold.

"I wouldn't expect Thorin to know," Thranduil said. "He was but a child at the time and I find it unlikely his grandfather would admit he'd rejected the offer." He gave her a bitter smile. "All he wanted were warriors to try and take back his precious gold. His people meant little to him."

Silence hung in the air.

"Thorin," Bilba said finally, "He doesn't know, you need to tell him."

Thranduil gave her a mildly condescending look. "He would neither listen nor believe me."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't try!" Bilba insisted. "Please. The alliance you had was broken by Thror, not Thorin and it is strained now because Thorin wrongly believes you abandoned them just when they needed you most."

She stepped forward and, this time, Glorfindel released her. Immediately Bilba dropped to her knees, bowing respectfully before the King.

"I apologize for my words," she said, clasping her hands in front of her, "for they were spoken rashly and without knowing the full story. I also apologize on Thorin's behalf for anything he said for it was done for the same reason."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "By what right are you able to speak for him?"

Behind her Glorfindel spoke up. The words sounded elvish but she didn't recognize them, they weren't Sindarin.

Thranduil responded in the same language, sounding surprised. The son, still seated in the same spot, also looked startled, his eyes darting to her and then away again.

Glorfindel spoke again and, for several minutes, they had a heated conversation that ended finally with Thranduil going back and dropping in his chair again, crossing a leg over his knee and propping his face on his fingers. He sighed and shut his eyes, turning his face into his hands.

Glorfindel spoke once more, his words quiet.

When he stopped silence reigned once more.

Bilba stayed where she was, silently praying to the Valar that she hadn't screwed everything up by allowing her anger to get the better of her. She probably needed to stop hanging around Thorin quite so much and pick someone a little more level headed to be influenced by. Maybe Nori, he seemed to know how to keep his mouth shut.

"It would seem," Thranduil's voice rang out, sounding resigned, "that you are not the only one to act rashly and from anger."

He straightened in his chair and indicated she stand. Bilba obeyed and held still as Thranduil called out "Tauriel!"

Behind her, the door opened and the redheaded elf woman came in.

“My lord,” she said calmly, bowing at the waist.

“Would you retrieve Oakenshield and his kin and see they are shown to private quarters? Once they have settled have Oakenshield brought here." He gave Bilba an appraising look. "Inform him that the Hobbit is here. I'm sure that will speed his steps."

Bilba’s head snapped up, her eyes wide.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow as if to ask what she was so surprised about.

She nodded. “At once, my Lord.”

She left, shutting the door behind her.

Bilba immediately stepped forward and dropped to her knees once more in front of the King.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her head bowed. “And I do apologize, again, for speaking so disrespectfully.”

He sighed. “It is forgiven." His eyes flickered to Glorfindel for a moment, some dark emotion crossing them. "As has been pointed out to me there are far greater concerns that do not afford me the luxury of holding onto past grudges." He indicated the table. "Come then, join me.”

She got up and took the seat he indicated, nodding at the Prince as she did. “My lord.”

“Legolas,” he said with an easy grin, “Please.”

She smiled back. “Thank you.” She flushed suddenly, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself before setting off on her rant. “I’m Bilba Baggins.”

He nodded back. “Very pleased to meet you Ms. Baggins. I must say I’d heard tale of the Hobbits, that they were quiet and peaceful. I was not expecting you.”

“I imagine,” Thranduil said dryly from the head of the table, “that there are few who expect Ms. Baggins.”

Bilba flushed and ducked her head.

Thranduil looked amused.

Glorfindel sat down next to her and she leaned over toward him.

"Thank you," she said. "I don't know what you said to him but thank you."

He smiled at her. "Don't assume it was anything I said. You can be quite persuasive all on your own."

Bilba gave him a quick smile and then straightened in her chair, her eyes wide as servants began to arrive, carrying large platters of food.

A giant plate was placed down in front of her, piled high with roasted pork, and she nearly started salivating. As much as she hadn't been able to keep food down it hadn't stopped her from craving it to a nearly irrational degree, particularly meat and it was nice to see not ALL elves were apparently vegetarians like the ones in Rivendell.

She cast a look at Thranduil who gave an amused grin and waved a hand. "Go on. I'm sure Oakenshield won't mind if we start without him."

Bilba smiled. "Thank you."

With that she wasted no time in digging in, loading her plate with everything she could think of.

If Thorin were lucky she might even save him some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short, cliff notes as I know a few people haven't read all the books.
> 
> Glorfindel is a serious BAMF. He is over 6,000 years old and fought against Morgoth (Sauron's boss) at a time when Morgoth was sending ARMIES of Balrogs and Dragons at them. He was killed in a battle with a Balrog, as it fell over a precipice it managed to grab his hair and pull him over as well. He went to Valinor where he befriended Gandalf. Eventually he was resurrected to help in the war against Sauron, later Gandalf was also sent to help guard against the return of Sauron. He is known to be powerful in the seen and unseen world to the point where the Nazgul run like hell when they see him coming. I took this idea and adjusted it to mean he can see in both the seen and unseen world, meaning Bilba wearing the ring in front of him is useless as he can see her just as well with it on as without it. 
> 
> If you want to see how I'm picturing him: http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130203125020/lotr/images/d/df/Glorfindel_by_Magali_Villanueve.jpg 
> 
> Second - all magical objects mentioned ARE from Tolkien's writings. The line about there being many magic rings is from the Fellowship movie. I can't remember if that line is in the books but I've made it canon in MY story as it sets up the idea that magical objects are not so unusual, including magic rings, and it therefore makes sense that Glorfindel, upon seeing Bilba has a magic ring would have no reason to think it was the One Ring - particularly when that ring is thought lost. He never sees it closely, never touches it and literally has zero reason to think it's anything other than just a simple ring that lets you go invisible when you wear it. 
> 
> SO, there ya go! Proof I put FAR to much thought into making sure things make logical sense, at least to me! :P :D :D


	36. Chapter 36

Bilba had worked her way through the equivalent of breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses and was halfway through tea before a knock sounded on the door.

Thranduil called out permission and the door promptly opened to admit Tauriel. Behind her strode Thorin, fresh from a bath, his beard neatly trimmed, braids redone and dressed once again in his armor and Coat of Majesty. The only thing he was missing was his sword, but Bilba could understand why the elves might not want guests traipsing about their palace armed.

As he came in she felt her heart jump in her chest and, before she was fully aware, had pushed back from the table. She ran over to him, leapt up on his steel capped boots, pushed up on her toes, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He barely had a chance to kiss her back before she broke it off, leaning back to where her weight hung off her arms. Thorin slid his own arms around her waist, interlocking his hands at the small of her back to brace her.

“Hi,” Bilba said quietly.

A slow grin spread across Thorin's face.

“Hello.” His eyes flickered over her clothing and hair. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

Bilba grinned. “I imagine I look a sight better too.”

Thorin’s eyes locked onto hers. “You only ever look beautiful to me.”

Bilba’s mind locked up and she proceeded to simply stare at him, her mouth slightly agape. Thorin gave her an amused look, his lips quirking upward in a smirk.

Before she could fashion any sort of response he looked past her and Bilba saw his eyes darken. With a start she remembered they weren’t exactly alone in the room and felt her face heat. Pulling herself up on her toes once more she leaned into Thorin’s face, her forehead touching his.

“Please, just listen to what he has to say. You did promise.”

His eyes narrowed. “When was this?”

“You promised me you’d keep your feelings about our hosts to yourself.”

“That was about the guards.”

“You didn’t say that,” Bilba insisted. “You said hosts.”

Really, he was a King, he should know better than to make promises without being absolutely sure of what he was agreeing to.

Behind her there was silence from the rest of the room. Bilba was surprised Thranduil hadn’t spoken up yet. She imagined Glorfindel probably had something to do with it.

“Please?” She whispered, pulling herself even closer, “just hear him out?”

His eyes darkened but he gave her the barest inclination of his head.

“As you wish.”

He didn’t sound happy about it but when Bilba leaned in he kissed her freely enough.

She jumped off his boots and turned to face the room. It had occurred to her, as she’d waited for him, that he was about to hear just how deep his grandfather’s illness had truly run. It was not something anyone would want to hear, least of all in front of an audience.

Bilba curtsied politely to Thranduil.

“Thank you for hospitality, your Majesty. If it’s all right I think I’ll retire for now. It has been a long day.”

Thranduil nodded at her, his eyes unreadable. “Of course. It was…interesting to meet you, to say the least.” He gestured languidly toward Legolas. “My son will show you to your guest quarters.”

Bilba nodded.

She cast a glance at Glorfindel and saw him studying her. Bilba tried to communicate to him with her eyes, not something she’d ever been good at.

Glorfindel was over six thousand years old, however, and was apparently quite adept at silent communication. He gave her a barely imperceptible nod and settled back in his chair. Bilba felt something inside her relax minutely. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Thranduil and Thorin trying to strangle one another the second she’d stepped out of the room.

Legolas had gotten up and rounded the table, indicating the door with one hand as he came.

“Shall we, Miss Baggins?”

Bilba nodded and turned. Thorin was looking at her, a question in his eyes. Bilba grabbed his arm and reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. As she pulled back she leaned into his ear for a brief second and whispered, “I’ll see you in a little while.”

She walked out after that and Tauriel closed the door, leaving her with one final sight of Thorin standing alone in the room facing Glorfindel and Thranduil.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

She looked up at Legolas and forced a smile, trying to quell the sudden churning in her gut. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Guilt lingered as they walked down the hall though she believed she’d made the right choice. She wouldn’t want an audience while her enemy told her the truth about a loved one.

Of course it was highly possible he wouldn’t even believe Thranduil.

Did she believe him?

Bilba thought back to the look in the elven King’s eyes and the tone of his voice.

She did believe him.

Legolas stopped suddenly and Bilba frowned in confusion before realizing they stood in a long hall with doors on either side. From behind several of them she could hear familiar voices. Relief flooded her, though her traitorous stomach continued to rebel. Eating a huge amount of food after going with so little for three weeks might not have been her best idea.

She nodded at Legolas. “Thank you.”

He returned the nod and gave a slight bow. “Any time, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

Bilba gave him a dry smile. “Even after I yelled at your father?”

He laughed. “Especially after. It was quite entertaining.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. Legolas showed her to an empty room at the end of the hall and took his leave.

Once he was gone Bilba barely made it into the room before losing nearly all of what she’d eaten that morning. Even after she still had a nauseous feeling and found herself wishing desperately for a cup of soothing tea, only to immediately feel another bout of nausea at the thought of eating or drinking ANYTHING.

After a few minutes her stomach settled, somewhat, and she felt well enough to leave her room. She knocked on the nearest door and soon found herself caught up in a reunion with her, no longer imprisoned, friends. All the doors were soon open and most of them were in the hall itself. Bilba was happy to see her friends had all been allowed to bathe and get cleaned up. Their clothing, if not weapons, had been returned as well, a fact which she saw annoyed Dwalin who was quite, if not overly, attached to his axes.

The best sight of all, however, was probably Fili and Kili. Both had seen their uncle alive and well and the effect on their overall demeanor was dramatic. Fili looked years younger, his face no longer lined with tension and Kili laughed so much it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself.

Fili threw both arms around her the second he saw her, lifting her physically off her feet and swinging her in a circle.

The action did not help her stomach and she was forced to grip his shoulders hard, biting down on her lip and trying to breathe carefully in through her nose and out through her mouth in a desperate attempt to not throw up al over him.

Fili set her down immediately with a frown, his hands on her shoulders.

“Bilba, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Bilba said, “just haven’t been feeling all that well today.”

“You haven’t been feeling all that well lately,” Fili said, his voice flat, and Bilba looked at him in surprise. She’d thought she’d been doing a good job of hiding it.

Fili called out for Oin and Bilba sighed, trying to wave him off.

“I’m fine, Fili. It isn’t a big deal.”

He roundly ignored her and Bilba soon found herself with Oin in his room being forced to describe her recent inability to keep down food. As she’d suspected, Oin agreed with her that stress, and eating too much when she’d barely eaten the past three weeks, was most likely. As he spoke Bilba thought back to the general feeling of fatigue she'd been feeling the past several months, the number of times she'd randomly found herself out of breath, not to mention the headaches, but decided not to mention them. Look at all she'd been through, of course she was feeling tired and having headaches. No doubt it was all simply a result of the stress of the journey itself and the fact her body had been thrown so wildly out of any semblance of a routine. Oin retrieved several herbs from his packs and handed them to her to be steeped in tea when her stomach was bothering her.

“Stress makes the body weaker,” he explained, pressing the herbs into her hands, “and it’s not undone just because the reason for the stress is gone. Take care of yourself; we don’t want you getting sick this close to the end of the journey!”

“Of course,” Bilba said, dryly, “though just because one source of stress is gone doesn’t mean there isn’t a dragon sized one coming up.”

“Eh?” Oin said with a frown, holding his trumpet up to his ear. " A flagon? Aye, a good draught of wine might help your stomach though I doubt you’ll get our hosts to give any of theirs up.”

Bilba didn’t bother to correct him, just thanked him and headed back into the hall. The doors were all still open and her friends were roaming freely from room to room, laughing and insulting their hosts in Khuzdul.

Bilba spotted Nori lingering near the door to his brother’s room. She began to head toward him when a hush suddenly fell over the end of the hall.

Thorin was striding down the hall, his body taut, hands clenched into fists at his side. The look on his face was thunderous, his eyes staring fixed, focused on something that Bilba was sure wasn’t even in the hall.

He strode straight past her, into his room and shut the door behind him.

The Bilba of a few months ago would have probably taken the act as a personal slight. As it was, Bilba now felt nothing but sympathy. She doubted he’d even noticed her in the hall.

Fili strode past her suddenly, looking resolute. He opened his uncle’s door without knocking and vanished inside, shutting it behind him. Kili followed a moment later. Bilba felt a surge of relief and gratitude. Thorin wouldn’t be alone and Fili and Kili were more than capable of dealing with the news about their grandfather.

In the hall the talking and laughing died down and the dwarves soon vanished inside their own rooms, leaving her alone. None of them knew what was going on but having their leader in a bad mood had successfully soured their own.

Footsteps heralded the arrival of Glorfindel, who leaned on the wall next to her.

“So,” Bilba said slowly. “He took it about as well as expected?”

“I think,” the elf said calmly, “he may have guessed at the truth himself long before now.” He looked down at her. “But suspecting the truth and hearing it confirmed are two very different things.”

“True,” Bilba said, “not to mention WHO he had to hear it from.” She sighed. “I suppose I should be glad they didn’t kill each other.” She chewed on her lip and then offered him a smile. “I imagine you’ll be off now? You have to get back to Rivendell you said.”

He frowned. “Indeed, though I think now I shall put off my return trip, for a few days at least.”

Bilba raised an eyebrow. “It really went that badly?”

He smiled. “Just because the truth has come out doesn’t mean they’ll suddenly be friends. I imagine they could be, one day, but that day is a long ways off.”

“A VERY long ways,” Bilba muttered.

Glorfindel laughed. “Indeed. Either way, Thranduil has agreed to give you safe passage through Mirkwood and has even gone so far as to offer to give you supplies to reach Lake-town. He feels it will be proper reparation for locking you up for three weeks without just cause.”

Bilba studied him, wondering just how much of that had truly been Thranduil’s decision and how much had been Glorfindel.

It came out to the same thing in any event, though, so she simply thanked him and left it alone.

After he left Bilba returned to her room and spent much of the rest of the day relaxing. At one point she left for the kitchens and was able to get a pot of tea brewed for her. Once she’d returned to her rooms she added the herbs Oin had given her and found that they did, indeed, settle her stomach considerably.

She was starting on her second cup, and settling in with a book she’d stolen from Ori who, Valar bless him had brought several and had somehow managed to not lose any of them, when a knock sounded on her door.

“Come in,” she called out and then started with surprise as it swung open to reveal Thorin.

“Thorin,” she said, getting up, “come in.”

He did, closing the door behind him. Bilba raised an eyebrow at it, her face heating slightly, but he only walked over and sat on the floor, leaning back against her bed.

He looked exhausted.

Bilba started to sit next to him only to have him grab her and pull her down to sit across his lap. Bilba leaned against him, resting her head on his chest. He gave a sigh and wrapped both arms around her before dropping his head back against the bed.

They stayed like that for a very long time. Slowly the tension bled out of him and his body relaxed. Bilba found herself relaxing also, though she wasn’t tired enough to go to sleep.

After a time Thorin’s eyes drifted closed and his breathing evened out. Thinking him asleep Bilba shifted, planning to get her book and return, only to have his arms tighten around her and his eyes open.

“Sorry,” Bilba said, apologetically. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he responded. “I was thinking.”

Bilba hesitated. “About your grandfather?”

Thorin looked at the ceiling as though it could give him answers.

“Did you believe him then?” Bilba asked. “Thranduil I mean?”

He was silent for a moment. “I probably wouldn’t have once, before Moria.”

Bilba flinched, remembering Balin’s story. A pyrrhic victory, one with losses so great it may as well have been a defeat. Of course, in the end, they hadn’t regained Moria so perhaps it had been a defeat in truth.

“We never should have been there,” Thorin said. “I knew it then and I know it now.”

He took a deep, slightly shaky breath and Bilba saw he was struggling to hold himself together.

“He cared nothing for the fate of his people or kin when he threw us against the orcs,” Thorin said, “only for regaining lost wealth and a throne.” He shook his head. “I should have done something.”

“You were a child,” Bilba said, “and he was the King. What could you have done?”

She didn’t mention it was his FATHER who should have done something. She was sure he was aware of it and the last thing he needed was his grandfather and father’s memories impugned in the same day.

“You sound like Fili.”

Bilba raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we sound alike because we’re both speaking a very obvious truth.”

He didn’t respond to that. For a few minutes he continued to look upward, gritting his teeth as he fought to get control of himself. Bilba kept quiet and let him have the time he needed. She knew he was remembering those days when the exiled dwarves of Erebor had wandered homeless, probably saw the faces of those left dead in their wake due to lack of food and water.

“He was a good King once,” Thorin said. There was the faintest hint of a plea in his voice, as though he were desperate for someone to believe in the person his grandfather had once been and not the person he’d ended up as.

“I believe you,” Bilba said, her voice firm. “I wish I could have met him, as he was.”

Thorin nodded. “As do I.”

He reached out suddenly and began lightly running a hand through her hair. “Your hair has grown long.”

Bilba took a second to respond, trying to readjust as quickly as he was changing subjects. She didn’t comment on the change though, unwilling to force him to speak beyond what he was comfortable.

“I was more concerned with finding you,” Bilba said dryly.

Thorin nodded, his eyes oddly intent. “I believe it is more than long enough to braid now.”

Bilba’s eyes widened. “What?”

Thorin reached up and undid one of his braids.

He slid the bead off the end and grabbed her hand, settling it in her palm. Bilba looked down at it, surprised at its weight. Lifting it up she saw the bead appeared to be solid mithril and was intricately decorated.

“It bears the crest of the House of Durin,” Thorin said. “Any who see it will know what it means and who it comes from.”

Bilba looked at him, her heart racing. “I thought you wanted to wait.”

He shrugged. “You have saved my life countless times, not to mention the lives of my kin. Now you have come through again, rescuing us from the dungeons of Mirkwood and even railing at the King in our defense.”

Now Bilba did feel heat flood her face. “He told you about that then, did he?”

“He did,” Thorin said a grin on his face. “And it was about then that I realized I could not imagine there ever being anyone but you.” His arms tightened about her and pulled her close. He kissed her and then pulled back just a fraction to stare into her eyes. “All others pale in comparison to your beauty, your intelligence, your fire and, most of all, your loyalty, honor and courage. You give of yourself wholly and without reservation. There are only two roads before me and two is all there will ever be. I will have you at my side or I will have no one at all.”

Bilba’s felt a shiver run across her entire body and her eyes burned. She reached a hand up and slid it along his face, feeling the coarse hairs of his beard against the palm of her hand.

“When I first met you,” she said with a slight smile, “I thought you were ridiculously beautiful and felt it a terrible shame that such beauty was so utterly ruined every time you opened your mouth.”

Thorin’s eyes sparked with amusement and he made to speak only to have Bilba put a finger over his lips and give him a very clear shut up message with her eyes.

“Since that point,” she continued, her voice growing serious, “I have learned how utterly wrong I was on all counts.” Thorin’s eyes sharpened in reaction to her tone, his expression growing intense and Bilba felt a thrill run through her.

“You are intelligent and fierce and strong and brave. You inspire devotion from your nephews, loyalty from your followers and--” she hesitated and took a deep breath, “and love from me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“And I would be honored to wear your braid, Thorin Oakenshield.”

 


	37. Chapter 37

The braid Thorin put in her hair was identical to the one he already wore, the one she’d redone for him in the tunnels. When she raised an inquisitive eye at him he shrugged.

“I’ve grown rather fond of it.” She leaned her head back against his shoulder as he reached up to tug lightly on his own braid. “This braid shows I’m the current head of the line of Durin, no other may wear it except, if I so choose, my One.”

Bilba reached up to trail her hand along the braid plaited in her hair, ending at the bead securing it at the bottom. “Trust you not to do things the traditional way,” she said dryly. “Lucky for you it’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Like?” Thorin’s voice rumbled. “Is that all it is? I thought I heard a stronger sentiment expressed in there somewhere.”

She’d been sitting between his knees for him to braid her hair and now he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. She responded by sliding a hand behind his head and drawing him down for a kiss.

“Did you?” Bilba said, amused. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

As she spoke her stomach twisted and she grimaced, her hand automatically flinching in his hair. She put her hand down and looked away, trying to hide her expression.

Thorin caught it, his eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Bilba sighed and explained, adding that she’d already talked to Oin and gotten herbs to help.

“Here’s hoping I won’t end up sick by the time we reach Lake-town,” she said, her voice annoyed. She reached out and poked him deliberately in the chest. “Though if we do I’m blaming you. You did this to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And how do you figure that?”

“I was stressed out over you,” she replied. “Stress caused nausea which, according to Oin, is making me sick.”

“I hardly think it was my fault that I got locked in the cellar,” he replied dryly.

Bibla had to physically bite her tongue to keep from responding. Instead she simply, slowly, raised an eyebrow. Really? What had it been Thranduil had said about creative insults again?

Thorin rolled his eyes.

“In any event,” he said, “I’m here now so you hardly have anything left to concern yourself with.”

“Except the last stop on our visit to things in Middle Earth that want to eat us,” Bilba said slowly.

“You won’t be anywhere near the dragon,” Thorin said, his body tensing. “We’ve already discussed that.”

Actually they’d yelled about it and come to no consensus whatsoever but she really didn’t feel like a repeat so, rather than respond, she simply leaned against him once more and gave a non-committal sound he could interpret any way he wanted. He apparently chose to take it as consent of some kind, he had a tendency to suddenly get optimistic at the oddest points, because she felt him relax minutely behind her.

Her stomach settled and then promptly growled at her, reminding her she’d only taunted it with a morning meal that it had promptly rejected.

“Come on,” Thorin said, beginning to move. “I believe the others said they were headed to dinner. We should join them.”

He gently moved her off his lap, stood and then reached a hand down to pull her up. Once up he offered her an arm that she took and allowed her to lead the way into the hall.

Outside it was quiet, the rooms silent. Thorin explained the elves had set aside a small dining room for them.

The fact that Thorin was the one who knew where it was worried her, until they turned a corner to see Fili leaning against a wall.

He straightened immediately and came toward them, a huge smile on his face. Bilba felt her steps slow, suddenly self-conscious.

Fili reached them and immediately threw his arms around her, lifting her straight up in the air, though he was very careful to do it slowly and didn’t spin her.

“It’s about time,” he said, before setting her down again. He lightly touched his forehead against hers. “Welcome to the family, Aunt Bilba.”

Bilba felt a flush of embarrassment, and happiness, tingle from the top of her head all the way down to her toes even as she frowned in confusion.

“Aunt?” She asked in surprise, “I thought the braid was simply an official sign of courtship. We’re not engaged and certainly not married!”

Fili just rolled his eyes. “If you want to pretend you’re simply courting and not already setting a date it’s fine with me.” He grinned widely as he said it and Bilba had to bite back a grin of her own.

“Regardless,” Fili said. “I thought the two of you might be hungry and would appreciate getting to the dining hall sometime in the next week.” He crooked an arm for her, sending a mocking look of challenge at his uncle. “So I came to escort you personally.”

Thorin growled something at his nephew but, by now, Bilba was grinning widely. She grabbed onto Fili’s arm with both hands and looked over her shoulder at Thorin.

“I would indeed like to get there sometime today.”

This time Thorin directed the challenging look at her but Bilba merely lifted her chin slightly, smirking back at him. “You should be pleased at your nephew’s heroic attempts to protect your reputation, Thorin. After all there’s plenty of light here so you wouldn’t be able to blame cave ins for needing to backtrack frequently.”

Fili laughed, only to immediately shut his mouth at the glare his uncle sent him. Even then he could barely hold back a grin so he finally turned, dragging Bilba with him, to set off in the direction of the dining room. Bilba cast one final look over her shoulder as they went, grinning at Thorin, who merely looked extremely put out.

She grew nervous again as they approached the dining room. As it turned out, however, she and Thorin had not been nearly so secretive as she’d have liked to believe. As they walked into the dining room there was a rousing shout of “ABOUT TIME!” from the rest of the Company as soon as they spotted her braid.

She and Thorin were promptly plunked down together at one of the tables piled with food. Before Bilba could even say anything a bowl of soup appeared before her, for which she was eternally grateful, as well as a cup of tea already steeped with some of Oin’s herbs.

“Start small,” Oin said, “you’ll be back up to normal in no time.”

Bilba nodded at him in appreciation. On her other side Nori dropped down and gave her a decidedly flirtatious wink. Bilba raised an eyebrow and he gave a mock innocent look in return.

“What? I can’t be appreciative of exceptional beauty?”

“No,” Thorin’s voice growled from her other side. “You cannot.”

Nori’s grin widened into an expression that could only be described as wicked and he settled into his seat.

Thorin soon got caught up in a conversation with Dwalin on his other side, possibly regarding the possible disposal of certain annoying Company members, and, across from Bilba, Fili and Kili were having a hushed conversation, no doubt planning some sort of comeback against the elves for their long imprisonment.

Speaking of which, Bilba leaned over to Nori.

“How much have you stolen from them so far?”

He waggled his eyebrows, grinning. “A few things here and there.”

Which meant a lot of things, everywhere.

“I suppose you could only carry so much,” Bilba said mildly.

“Indeed,” Nori replied, “it’s tragic.”

“It is,” Bilba agreed, “considering how much stress they put us through.” She gave him a considering look. “I suppose, seeing as how you could only carry so much, you’d want to make sure you carried only the best.”

“Of course,” Nori said, looking affronted. “I’m quite discerning.”

Bilba nodded, acting deep in thought. “Which means you’d have to pick a lot of things up, you know, look at them, make sure they were worthy.”

He nodded. “Most likely.”

“Hmmm,” Bilba said, “and I suppose it’s quite easy to get distracted and accidentally put those things down in….I don’t know, odd places.”

A slow smile was beginning to spread across Nori’s face. “Aye,” he agreed, “I do tend to get distracted. There’s a lot to see in this place after all.”

“Of this I am well aware,” Bilba said dryly. “I certainly saw enough of it the past three weeks.” Her eyes drifted across the table to where Kili’s head was bent down to listen to whatever Fili was saying. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen any discarded bows lying about have you?”

Nori’s eyes followed hers. “Perhaps one or two.” He grinned. “I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?”

Bilba grinned. “I’ll make a list.”

She settled back into her chair as she spoke. Across from her Fili was giving her an inquisitive look but she simply smiled back innocently.

The smell of meat hit her nose suddenly and she jerked around to see several elves walking in, carrying large platters that they set down on the table. Bilba could feel her mouth beginning to water.

“Thorin,” she said sweetly, spinning to face him. “Would you mind getting me some of whatever that is?”

Thorin broke off his conversation with Dwalin and turned his attention to her. “I thought the only meat you ate was fish. That’s roasted pork.”

“What?” Bilba asked. “I can’t expand my palate?”

“Is your stomach feeling well enough to handle it?”

Bilba gave him a look that could melt iron. “Thorin. Shut up and get me meat. Now.”

Thorin’s eyes widened slightly. On the other side of the table, Gloin and Bombur, the only two members of the Company who were married; were frantically signing something to Thorin. Thorin looked confused but got up and walked to the end of the table where the roasted pork was.

With him gone Bilba had a clear line of sight to Dwalin who was looking into his cup and shaking his head.

Bilba shrugged. She didn’t care what the others thought as long as it got her bacon.

Thorin came back and slid into his seat, sliding a plate in front of her as he did.

“Satisfied, my Lady?” He asked his voice dry.

“Immeasurably so,” Bilba answered back cheerfully.

And, with that, she happily settled in to eat.

*                       *                      *

_She stood in the midst of an enormous meadow on a beautiful spring day. A warm breeze whistled through a knee high carpet of grass. Bright spots of color dotted the landscape, flowers in every color she could imagine. Overhead the sun glittered in a sapphire sky._

_It was silent._

_It was peaceful._

_It was wrong._

_She wrapped her arms around her chest, her body shaking. Around her the silence pressed in, waiting, unnatural. It felt as though the world had taken a deep breath and hadn’t yet exhaled._

_The world was waiting._

_Everything was waiting._

_Slowly, almost against her will, she found herself turning around._

_Erebor rose behind her, its peak dominating the sky._

_Wind whipped about it, creating a distant hollow sound. It brought to mind the image of empty rooms and abandoned halls._

_So much silence. Even the birds were quiet._

_She took a step forward, and something crunched under her feet._

_She paused, startled._

_She took another step, and heard the sound of something snapping._

_An awful, sick feeling ran up her spine._

_Slowly, so slowly, she lowered her eyes._

_Her gaze landed on the grass around her knees and moved beyond, down toward her feet._

_White shards winked at her through the blades of grass, jagged edges wrapped around her feet._

_She swallowed and knelt carefully, reaching out to pick up one of the pieces. Her hand closed around something smooth, cold to the touch._

_She picked it up and studied it, following the slight curve of the object._

_She saw more pieces, whatever it was had shattered completely when she stepped on it. Her eyes traveled further and saw whiter, long, slender objects with other…_

_The image clicked and suddenly she was throwing herself back. Bile rose in her throat and she slapped a hand over her mouth._

_She landed hard._

_Something crunched._

_Sharp, hard objects hit her in the back, slicing into her hands and sending pain sparking up her nerves._

_Around her the grass began to turn brown and shrivel. The flowers faded and lost their petals. Slowly land started to appear, a great wasteland stretching as far as the eye could see._

_A wasteland covered in the bones of the dead._

_Her breath caught in her throat and she gave a low moan of terror, her eyes traveling around in horror._

_Orcs, Elves, Men, Dwarves, all lay together in twisted heaps, joined together forever in death. Broken spears and rusted swords lay scattered among them, arrows protruding from fleshless ribcages and spears pinning broken skulls to the ground._

_Her body shook so hard she could barely function. Her legs barely worked as she struggled to her feet. Around her the air grew cold, the wind harsher. Overhead dark clouds moved in over the sky, blocking out the sun and casting the land into shadow._

_At the gates of Erebor something glittered._

_On legs that barely held her up she walked among the dead, moving toward the gates._

_The day grew darker, harsher. Rain began to fall, pattering on broken helms and shattered shields._

_Dimly a sound began to wrap around her, voices roaring in rage, screaming in pain. The clash of swords and twang of bowstrings echoed across the valley even as the dead lay still._

_The rain grew into a downpour, soaking her to the bone. She began to shiver but pressed on, trying to ignore the feel of bones snapping under her feet. Around her forms began to flicker in the corners of her vision, warriors locked in endless battle, lost as soon as she tried to focus on them._

_She reached the gates and found the source of the light._

_Two forms lay stretched out, bright armor somehow catching light even though there was none left to be found. Wind and rain drifted through their long dark hair in a mockery of life long fled._

_For a moment she thought she was looking at Fili and Kili, only to look again and see that she was wrong._

_These two were twins, clean shaven with hair the color of darkened bronze. Their bodies were leaner than the Princes and they were shorter, though not by much. Still, there was something about them that reminded her of the two royals._

_She didn’t know why such an intense feeling of grief was welling up inside her at the sight of them._

_She didn’t know them._

_She was sure she'd never seen them before even though the feeling of familiarity was nearly overpowering._

_So why was her heart breaking?_

_Around her everything vanished, the rain, wind, plain and mountain. All that was left were the two before her._

_A sob rose up from the depths of her soul and her legs buckled, sending her to her knees between the still forms._

_Shaking she reached out a hand to touch the hair of the closet one, only to watch it fall apart before her eyes._

_“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking on a sob. “Please no.”_

_She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop anything. Before her eyes she lost them both, their bodies rotting away, leaving nothing but bone behind._

_Pain worse than anything she’d ever borne welled up inside her. She curled forward, wrapping her arms around her waist and leaning till her forehead touched the ground._

_She sobbed as though her heart would break, or perhaps it already had._

_And still she didn't know why._

Bilba opened her eyes to find she was crying, her chest heaving with sobs.

The dream was gone already, lost as all the others were, but it didn’t stop the feeling of intense pain and grief.

Had it been about her family? Her mind went to her brother and parents. If it had been about them she was grateful to have lost it. She had enough pain from their loss without it being refreshed through her dreams.

She sniffed, inhaling deeply and reached up to scrub at her eyes. She pushed up in her bed and stared into the dark. It was late. After dinner had ended Thorin had escorted her back to her room, insisting sleep would help her stomach and hopefully stave off any illness.

Oin, the traitor, had agreed and thus she’d found herself put to bed early as though she were an errant child.

She frowned. Her stomach did, in fact feel better.

She would never tell Thorin and Oin though. As far as she was concerned they were still jerks. She shoved the blankets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her chest still hitched and her breathing was erratic. Bilba sighed, she wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon.

She got dressed and pulled her hair back in a ponytail before opening the door to her room. The hall beyond was dark and quiet, everyone else was asleep.

Vaguely she remembered this area of the palace from her searches for Thorin. If she were correct there had been a balcony that overlooked Mirkwood fairly near. Deciding she had nothing better to do she went in search of it and, because she wasn’t Thorin, found it within a few minutes.

The balcony was similar to ones she’d seen in Rivendell, wide and flat with a simple railing around the edge.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact elves didn’t use railings or the fact they clearly knew what they were and obviously chose not to use them.

The railing was too low to be any use for the elves, typical, but was the perfect height for her. She leaned on it and relaxed, staring into the dark woods. The tree loomed over and around her, dark presences in the darkness. The chirp of crickets filled the night and she could hear the distant sound of other creatures moving about. The scent of wood and moss hit her and she inhaled deeply, sighing as her body relaxed. A cool breeze swirled around her, signifying the change of seasons approaching and she wondered what day it was. She’d lost track inside the forest. She had no doubt Thorin knew and was quietly having a mental breakdown over it.

Her hand reached up and ran over the braid in her hair, a small smile involuntarily gracing her features. It hadn’t been a dream then.

A soft light shone over her suddenly, coming from behind her, and she turned her head to see Glorfindel approaching. He sat on the railing next to her, long legs stretched out. As she’d thought the light emanating from him was far more obvious at night.

“Can you ever turn that off?” she asked. “Or are you just a walking beacon for anything that wants to attack you at night?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I like being a walking beacon.”

That she could believe. She returned her attention to the forest. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“After six thousand years you tend to accumulate more than a few memories capable of keeping you awake,” Glorfindel said. His eyes slid to her. “What about you? What memories has one so young accumulated to keep you awake?”

Bilba shuddered, fingers digging into her arms where she clasped them on top of the railing. “The woods look so different at night, almost LESS creepy.”

He didn’t seem to mind her ignoring his question. “It was beautiful in all phases, once,” he said, “before a poison began to creep across it.”

“Where does it come from?” Bilba asked.

Glorfindel gave a slight smile. “Poisonous places.”

Bilba snorted. She couldn’t very well blame him for avoiding a question when she’d just done the same thing.

She adjusted her position and leaned her chin on her crossed arms. “Do you think we’ll be leaving soon?”

“Probably not as soon as you would like. Thranduil is prepared to stall.”

“Why?” Bilba asked in surprise.

“He is not a fool,” Glorfindel replied. “He guesses your purpose even if you will not confirm it. He doesn’t wish to risk the wrath of the dragon. It has long terrorized Mirkwood each time it awakens.”

“Then maybe Thranduil should have done something about it,” Bilba muttered.

“He did not call the dragon down, it is not his battle to fight. He has the right to guard the lives of his people. He is a good King.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. "If you say so." She was still annoyed at the elven king for his treatment of her and her friends but, if Glorfindel liked him, she was willing to consider leniency in her own feelings.

Glorfindel’s eyes drifted to her. “Do you truly plan to challenge the dragon?”

“I’m sort of hoping it’s dead.”

“It is not.”

“Of course not,” Bilba huffed, “because our luck could not possibly be that good.”

They both lapsed into silence. In the distance something howled and Bilba frowned. She hadn’t been aware Mirkwood had wolves. Beside her Glorfindel straightened and turned to stare out silently into the woods, his brow creased.

“We don’t want to challenge it,” Bilba said suddenly, “we just want the Arkenstone, so Thorin can take it back to his people.”

So he could raise an army and THEN challenge it.

“Is he not recognized as King already?”

Bilba frowned, unwilling to discuss the lack of loyalty Thorin had experienced when asking his kin for help. They should have rallied to his side. Instead they had cowered, setting him an impossible task in the hope he would abandon the idea all together.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, “I’m not a dwarf.”

“And yet you travel with them and are willing to face down a dragon for them.”

“I am,” Bilba said.

Another howl sounded. Movement rushed past her on the branches of the trees and she caught quick glimpses of figures rushing out into the night in the direction of the howls. A brief flash of red hair identified Tauriel. Legolas kept stride next to her.

Beside her Glorfindel drew his sword and leapt up easily onto the railing.

“You are an unusual sort, Bilba Baggins,” he said, his eyes glittering down at her in the dark. “I have not met your like in many a year.”

Bilba pushed up to lean on the rail. “So I keep being told.”

He continued to study her, his expression troubled. “Your sort is rare and hard to find,” he said, his voice grave. “And is often unable to survive the darkness of this world.”

Bilba grinned at him. “In that case I guess it’s a good thing there are beacons like you around to draw the darkness away from me.”

Glorfindel laughed. Then he was gone, vanishing into the night after the others.

Bilba rested the heels of her hands against the railing and put her weight on them. She could feel the beginnings of a headache building behind her temples and imagined it would only get worse the longer they had to stay there.

Hopefully Thranduil would not be able to stall them long. As much as the dragon worried her, she didn’t want to stay in Mirkwood anymore. It held too many bad memories of desperately trying to find Thorin.

Indeed, they couldn’t leave fast enough to suit her.

*                       *                      *

In the end Thranduil somehow managed to stall them for another three weeks.

Every day it was something new. There were wargs spotted in various areas, or more spiders, and the path was far too dangerous to travel. Another day it was food had spoiled and they were trying to find more or some of their weapons had been misplaced and had to be found.

A couple of times the elven king simply went missing for the day meaning no one could ask him if the so-called guests could leave.

Thranduil couldn’t possibly know about Durin’s Day so Bilba wondered if he perhaps thought he could keep them all the way into winter, when the weather would be much too dangerous to allow travel.

In the end she suspected he only let them go because Glorfindel began to get annoyed. He'd promised to stay until they left and, as such, was as much affected by Thranduil's stalling as they were.

Of course it was also possible Thranduil had picked up on the fact that Thorin was so stir-crazy over the delay he was considering setting fire to the entire forest in a desperate attempt to simply be RID of it.

That sentiment was what led to her current position, standing once more on Thorin’s boots, her hands clutching the edges of his coat to keep herself up, her face close to his. Thorin was backed against a wall in the corridor, his head down and his eyes closed. His hands were clenched into fists and shudders ran over his frame as he fought to control himself.

“What’s going on Lass?”

Dwalin stood a few feet away and Bilba sighed.

“Thorin is trying to convince himself that setting fire to the place is not a good idea.”

“And why not?”

Bilba gave him a dirty look. “You mean aside from the fact we’re currently INSIDE it? Unless you WANT to reach Erebor as a pile of ash carried by the wind.”

“We won’t reach it at all at this rate,” Thorin growled. “Not when that bastard won’t let us leave.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dwalin drawled, “supplies are ready, weapons are in our room. You want to get out of here?”

Thorin’s entire body jerked up straight, his eyes wide. “You speak truly?”

“Would I lie about this?” Dwalin said, affronted.

He wouldn’t.

Without warning Bilba found Thorin’s arms around her waist. He lifted her straight up in the air and kissed her, hard. Bilba shrieked in surprise, then threw her arms around her neck and happily kissed him back. After a moment she pulled back to press her forehead to his.

“Are you happy now, oh King?”

He grinned at her, a spark of mischief suddenly in his eyes. "Immeasurably so.”

Bilba laughed.

He set her back down gently and then very nearly ran with Dwalin toward his quarters. Of course, if asked, Bilba had no doubt he would insist he’d walked, regally and majestically. Kings did not run after all.

She chuckled, shaking her head and returned to her own quarters. Using Oin’s herbs regularly had done a remarkable job of settling her stomach and, as he’d promised, she’d slowly started to get her appetite back. That had led to a very enjoyable three weeks eating everything she wanted, in copious quantities.

As she arrived an elf maiden was just leaving her room. The woman nodded at her.

“We made some new clothing for you. We based it off the old ones you had so I hope the fit is all right.”

“Thank you,” Bilba said. She passed the young woman and entered her room. A pile of clothing was laid out on her bed, trousers and blouses and an assortment of vests and coats. They truly had based the items on her old clothing, recreating them identically in new fabrics.

Bilba shut her door and headed back over to change, feeling just the slightest pang of regret at having to leave her dress behind. Glorfindel had seen to it she had multiple changes of clothing and she’d found herself growing used to wearing the gowns and ribbons. It was very close to what she’d worn in the Shire and it hadn’t taken long for her to remember how much she enjoyed wearing dresses.

She had no doubt, however, she’d change her mind the first time something tried to kill them and she had to fight in a dress, fabric tangling around her legs and tripping her.

She pulled the dress off and folded it carefully, laying it out on the bed. After that she grabbed the first pair of trousers and pulled them on, only to frown in confusion at the slightly tight feeling in the waistband.

Apparently they hadn’t based the clothing THAT closely on her old ones. She switched out to try the other two pairs of pants only to find the second pair had the same, slight tightness in the waist. She slid the second pair off and dropped it to the floor, reaching out for the third. As she did her eyes moved downward and she paused.

She hesitated and then put a hand on her rib cage, sliding it down over her stomach.

She sighed, her face heating in embarrassment at the feel of the small bulge under the skin.

Clearly the dresses weren’t the only throwback to her life in the Shire. She’d had a slight paunch there as well. She’d been much too small for a Hobbit of course but she’d still lived a very comfortable life. As she’d traveled with the dwarves, and especially after she’d started training, the extra weight had fallen off, giving way to lean muscle and a taut stomach.

She’d voluntarily given up her weapon after revealing herself to Thranduil and, therefore, hadn’t done any training in the last three weeks. Added to that the amount she’d been eating, after weeks of near starvation, and she’d clearly started to revert.

She pulled on the third pair of pants and, this time, simply gritted her teeth at the slight tightness. It wasn’t much and the bulge on her stomach wasn’t that large, so small she hadn't registered it before then, for which she was grateful. She could only imagine how bad it would have been if they’d stayed longer and she’d continued to let herself go soft.

She couldn’t be Bilba Baggins of the Shire anymore. The shy, quiet girl who lived a soft life had the luxury of being soft, not training, eating whatever she wanted.

Bilba Baggins, member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, intended of the King under the Mountain, could not claim the same.

She pulled on a blouse and buttoned it up, foregoing the vest and pulling on one of the coats, a beautiful deep red one with embroidery matching the one on her old coat. She fastened the lowest buttons, relieved to find it still fit at least.

Catching sight of something near the end of her bed, hidden under the blanket, she flipped the bedding up to reveal Sting and the knife Fili had given her, both safely in their scabbards. She grinned and strapped them both on, feeling a sense of relief at the weight of the two weapons on her belt.

Her belt that she now had to wear looser than before.

Bilba glowered at it, promising herself that, as soon as they left, she’d start harassing Fili and Dwalin to begin her training again. She’d also watch what she ate. According to Glorfindel it would be about a two week hike to make it out of Mirkwood to Lake-town. Hopefully that would be enough time to get her clothing fitting properly once more and to be able to tighten up the belt again.

She started to take the ribbons out of her hair only to change her mind and leave them in. She had nothing to tie her hair back with at the moment and Thorin would have a heart attack if she cut it.

Surely the elves wouldn’t mind her keeping them. She adjusted them, making sure her ponytail was still in place and lightly ran her finger along the braid. She’d left it out of the ponytail on purpose, letting it hang over her shoulder much as Thorin did with his.

Bilba packed up the rest of the clothing in a small pack sitting on the bed, hefted it up on her shoulders and headed into the hall.

The rest of the Company was already there, armed and more than ready to go. To her surprise, Bilba spotted Glorfindel near the end of the hall and made her way to him.

“Are you going with us?”

“For a little bit,” he said. “I’m leaving as well so I thought I may as well travel with you for a short while.” He smiled. “I assume this is acceptable?”

“Very much so,” Bilba said.

A snort sounded behind her. “Not if you’re Thorin it’s not.”

Bilba turned to see Nori behind her. “What? Why would Thorin care?”

Nori just shook his head, his expression amused.

Glorfindel had moved off and now a new thought occurred to Bilba. “So, did you find a few worthwhile souvenirs?”

“A few,” he said, mysteriously. He nodded back over his shoulder. “Managed a few other things on the wishlist too.”

Bilba followed his gaze to see Kili with a quiver of arrows strapped on his back and a bow slung over his shoulder. He looked ecstatic, bouncing on his toes as he spoke animatedly to Fili.

“Excellent.” Bilba said, pleased. She’d already heard several elves complaining about not being able to find things and, had to admit, she only felt the smallest twinge of guilt. Let them see what it felt like to not be able to find something they wanted for a while.

They headed out right after.

Thranduil appeared as they were leaving and Bilba bit back a grin as Kili's bow and quiver vanished somewhere before they could see them.

Glorfindel stepped up and clasped forearms with both Thranduil and Legolas. Watching exchange good-byes, Bilba could see the three shared a common respect and friendship for one another, even if they didn't always quite see eye to eye on things.

Thorin stepped forward after that and struggled to find a balance between civility and the outright insults he clearly wanted to start flinging.

Finally THAT particularly bad exchange was over and it was Bilba's turn.

She said good-bye to Legolas, genuinely saddened to part from him. She'd had little interaction with him but, the brief ones she DID have, had shown  he was a person she would be happy to consider a friend.

Thranduil studied her, his face carrying the same slightly haughty expression it always wore. "Go with care, Miss Baggins. You have a sharp tongue and there are many far less forgiving than I in the world?"

Bilba raised an eyebrow, was that actual concern, of a sort? She curtsied politely and thanked him with all the graciousness she could remember being taught by her mother and, later, Priscilla.

"I hope, when next we meet, it will be on better terms," she said.

He inclined his head slightly. "As so I."

He gestured to his son and, with that, the two left. Bilba turned also and followed the rest of the Company out the front gates.

It felt amazing to step out and feel the sun beating down on her, what little of it made it through the canopy.

The path, the one they were supposed to stay on in the first place, led away from the gates and swung around the palace to lead off in the direction of Erebor.

Bilba felt her footsteps grow lighter, until she was nearly bouncing, and a grin stretched across her face.

At the front of the Company, Glorfindel strode alongside Thorin. Dwalin and the Princes walked just behind. Kili's new bow and quiver had reappeared and he was happily showing them off to his brother.

Bilba strolled along at the back, content to enjoy the fact that they were finally away from the elven palace and on their way again.

She felt happy, content and convinced the rest of the trip would be smooth and uneventful.

 

Of course she'd no sooner thought that than the first howl rang out on the path behind them.

Naturally.

 

 

 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you and credit goes to Drenagon for several of the ideas in this chapter! :)

The first howl hadn’t even ended before Bilba had her ring out and on her finger.

Given the number of times they’d faced death on this quest she was seriously considering putting it on and never taking it off again.

She turned and saw orcs and wargs pouring out of the woods behind them.

Glorfindel stepped up next to her, his sword already drawn.

“How many do you think there are?” Bilba asked.

He frowned in concentration a moment before answering, “At least thirty, not counting the wargs they ride.”

“Huh,” Bilba said. “Only thirty? What will the rest of us fight?”

He grinned at her. “I could save you a warg or two if you like.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Bilba said solemnly, “but I’m afraid Thorin may see it as condescending. You know how he feels about elves, he's convinced you spend every waking moment thinking of ways to irritate him.”

“That's just absurd,” Glorifindel said. “We only spend every OTHER waking moment doing that." He shrugged. "Oh, well. He’ll just have to find own then.”

And with that he was gone, racing toward the oncoming group.

A loud roar sounded and Bilba felt her blood run cold as none other than Azog appeared from out of the trees. Her breath caught in her throat and she shakily jerked her sword from its sheath, her fingers nervously twitching on the hilt.

“Bilba?” Kili’s voice sounded and Bilba turned to see him with an arrow nocked to his bow, though the tip pointed at the ground. “Where are you?”

Bilba moved to the side of the path, making a note that getting possibly run over or shot by your own people was definitely a downside of the ring.

As she did she caught sight of Thorin. His eyes were fixed on Azog, an almost trancelike look in his eyes. His sword was drawn but hung nearly lax in his hand.

Oh, for the love of –

“Hey Thorin!” she shouted, “I see your boyfriend’s back! Try to restrain your enthusiasm this time, all right?”

She saw him twitch, his eyes darting toward her location. Fili, Kili and Dwalin also all turned to look at him. Dwalin leaned in to growl something and Thorin snapped back irritably but she saw his eyes clear and his grip tighten on his sword.

“I’m clear by the way,” Bilba continued, “unless you all planned to just watch Glorfindel have all the fun.”

As she said it Glorfindel sliced through the neck of the seventh or so warg he’d killed. Most of the group had focused on him but the elf appeared almost bored, his expression similar to what she'd expect from him on an afternoon walk rather than cutting through an orc pack.

“Well why didn’t you say so?” Kili said, his voice jubilant. He lifted his bow and let the arrow fly. It struck home, driving deep into the head of an orc.

That seemed to remind two of the orcs that they too had bows and arrows and Bilba soon found herself ducking as several of them flew over her head.

Thorin gave a war cry, something about axes and dwarves, and then the entire Company was thundering past her to engage the pack.

Azog hung near the back like the coward he was, avoiding the battle while his minions did all the fighting. He held his mace in one hand and Bilba felt herself shiver, mind flashing back to the crack it had made as it connected with Thorin’s face, the fear she’d felt realizing she was facing it alone.

“Halfing!” Azog roared suddenly.

Bilba pulled back into the treeline and pressed against a trunk.

Why did Azog want her?

Her eyes traveled to his stomach where she could see a thick, new scar cutting across the muscle, twisted and jagged.

“Halfling!”

Thorin sent a boot into the stomach of an orc, dropping it and following up by driving his sword through its skull.

“Your fight is with me, Azog!” He roared.

Azog’s attention shifted and he smiled at Thorin, his lips pulling back in a sneer.

“ **Does the Halfling matter to you, Durin? Would it pain you to see her suffer? To watch her die?** ”

Thorin snarled. He couldn’t understand what was being said, because Azog was an idiot and seemed to enjoy switching to Black Speech for his insults, but he got the tone, not to mention his name and Halfling. He moved forward but found his way blocked by more orcs.

An arrow whistled past Azog’s head, barely missing him as, by chance, the giant orc moved at the last second. Kili, standing to the side, cursed and readied another one.

By this time it was obvious what direction the battle was headed. Thirty orcs and wargs were no match against the Company and Glorfindel. Already several of the Company had bowed out and were standing to the side, watching as the remaining orcs were dealt with. Bofur had actually gone to lean against a tree and was idly carving a block of wood while Ori sat at his feet and scribbled rapidly in his journal, no doubt chronicling the events.

Azog looked…annoyed to say the least. As Glorfindel began to draw near to him he finally snarled a retreat in Black Speech. His own warg appeared from off the side of the path and he mounted it in one leap. As it turned to go he looked over his shoulder and somehow directed his attention straight toward her even though there was no possible way he could see her.

“ **Your time will come, Halfling. I will have Oakenshield watch you die and force him to wear your skull as I slaughter his kin! He will beg for death in the end!** ”

The words scared Bilba, of course they did. They would have scared anyone. She had spent far, FAR too much time with Thorin Oakenshield of late, however, and, as such, her sense of self-preservation had become somewhat lessened.

Which is why, instead of keeping her mouth shut like an intelligent Hobbit, she found herself channeling a particular, suicidal, idiot dwarven King.

“ **Really?** ” She called out in Black Speech, “ **isn’t that a little excessive? You don’t have to go that far to get him to beg for death, just talk for a while. The sound of your voice is so grating it’s a wonder your followers haven’t killed themselves in despair already!** ”

Azog roared in rage, his face twisting in hatred. He began to turn his warg back again. Bilba felt her eyes widen and she pressed back harder against the tree, her feet to frozen to move.

An arrow slammed into Azog’s shoulder, followed by two more to his chest. Bilba doubted they did much damage as the orc’s chest was almost solid, thick muscle, but it was enough to make him think twice about coming after her.

Kili was already nocking another arrow, swearing about having to use so many of his rapidly dwindling supply. Azog fled, vanishing into the trees before Kili could aim again. The rest of the orcs followed quickly behind, soon leaving the Company alone on the path, panting to recover.

Bilba pulled her ring off and darted forward, flinging herself up into Thorin’s arms as he turned to face her. He kept one hand on his sword, holding it to one side, but wrapped the other one around her waist, holding her up. Bilba wrapped her arms around his neck and happily kissed him. She could feel his chest heaving beneath his armor and a slight tremor ran through him as the battle adrenaline faded.

“What did you say to Azog?” He asked, his eyes piercing.

“Nothing,” Bilba insisted innocently, “he’s just sensitive.”

From a few feet away Kili muttered, “Sensitive? Tell that to my arrows.” He sighed, counting the remaining four he had left as though he could magically make them multiply.

Bilba refocused on Thorin, feeling quite happy. It was the first time they’d had a battle go so convincingly in their favor with no one almost dying, or being thought dead.

“So, my King,” she said, “have you brought me the head of your enemy as a gift?”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose. “Did you WANT the head of my enemy as a gift?”

He sat her feet back on the ground as he spoke and walked a few feet to clean his sword on the grass. Bilba followed him.

“It might be helpful,” she said. “I think it would look excellent on my mantle in Bag End. It might make some of my more obnoxious relations treat me with a bit more respect, don’t you think?”

Thorin, kneeling in the grass, paused a second before continuing gain. Bilba frowned, noticing the sudden tension in his back. What was – oh. She’d been so happy she’d forgotten the very, very large obstacles still in the path of their relationship.

Like the fact he’d be staying in Erebor if they succeeded while her home had always been in the Shire. He would never be able to leave Erebor after reclaiming it; his responsibilities would be too great.

As for her, could she see herself giving up the Shire to live in Erebor? Letting Bag End, the home her father built her mother, go? The Shire and Erebor were on opposite sides of the map, it was not a trip she could make on a whim when she got homesick and wanted to visit.

Thorin stood up and turned to face her.

“Why just a head?” he asked, his smile slightly forced. “I could have an entire orc stuffed for you and you could place it at the front entrance as a greeter for your relations.”

Bilba grinned, hoping it reached her eyes. Clearly he’d decided to put the thoughts away and she should too, she decided. She shouldn't get so ahead of herself. After all, they could both still wind up being eaten by a dragon.

“That would certainly give Lobelia pause at least," she said. "Perhaps she wouldn’t visit as often.”

“See,” Thorin said, “and all you had to do was put the stuffed corpse of an orc in your doorway.”

“Amazing what a little creativity can accomplish,” Bilba agreed, amused. She reached out and grasped his forearms before pushing up on her toes to kiss him.

She lowered herself back to her feet and turned to see the rest of the Company cleaning up and dragging the bodies off to the side of the trail. Behind her, Bilba heard Thorin sheathing his sword.

Fili and Kili began arguing about the risks to the forest if they burned the bodies and Thorin swore and moved past her to go stop his heirs before they started a war with Thranduil.

Not that Thorin would have a problem with a war with Thranduil, Bilba thought. He would just probably like to be out of the forest first.

Looking around Bilba noticed a number of weapons and other bits of equipment dropped by the orcs during the skirmish.

A thought occurred to her and she looked back down the path, away from the commotion. She could see a number of arrows lying about the path, orcs had terrible aim as it turned out, and she headed toward them. The least she could do was get a few more arrows for Kili.

She knelt by the nearest one and reached out to pick it up, only to find her wrist seized and held in Glorfindel’s grasp.

“Don’t,” he said grimly, “that’s a Morgul shaft.”

Bilba frowned at him. “Really? I thought those were just myths.”

“They are very real," Glorfindel said. "They come from Mordor and carry the curse of that land with them. If you receive a wound from a Morgul shaft you will die, painfully.”

“The legends say you become a Wraith,” Bilba muttered, “and you wouldn’t be able to receive a wound like this because it would disintegrate as soon as you touch it.”

“Those are Morgul blades,” Glorfindel explained, “shafts are simpler, and deadlier in many aspects.”

Bilba studied the weapon. It was large, longer than the arrows Kili had made for her when she’d been training with him. She imagined even Kili, with his greater height and longer reach; would have some trouble drawing it back. The entire thing was dark iron and black wood. It looked evil but she’d assumed that was simply from being an orc weapon.

“Mordor,” she whispered now. “What is a weapon of Mordor doing here?”

Around her the air seemed to grow still, the birds falling silent in the branches. It was as if the very earth itself held its breath awaiting the answer.

“I don’t know,” Glorfindel said, “except that it means things are farther along than I had thought and I’ve tarried far too long.” He began to push to his feet. “I must leave and rendezvous with Gandalf, immediately.”

Bilba barely heard him. She studied the arrow, her mind working. She was beginning to get the first germs of an idea, one so incredibly stupid and reckless even Thorin would probably be stunned to hear of it.

Still, though, it was the first idea with even the slightest possibility of success she'd had...and if there was even the REMOTE chance...

She removed her coat. She laid it out on the floor and carefully picked the arrow up, being careful not to touch the tip of the arrow, and laid it on her coat.

“What are you doing?” Glorfindel asked.

“I have an idea,” Bilba said. She stood and began carefully collecting other arrows. Many of them were damaged beyond further use, others were sunk so deep into trees she’d be unable to remove them without breaking them. In the end she wound up with only three usable arrows, counting the one she’d picked up off the ground.

“Here.” A large swatch of Glorfindel’s cloak appeared in her vision, “wrap the heads.”

Bilba nodded her thanks and obeyed, using the knife Fili had given her to cut strips that she wrapped around each arrowhead. Afterward she rolled them up inside her coat and tied the arms around the packet to secure it. She took her pack off and used the straps on it to tie the bundle to the top before sliding it back on her shoulders.

She straightened and noticed the others finishing up and beginning to make their way toward her. Glorfindel was studying her, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

Bilba sighed. “I’m an adult, no matter how young you think I am. I can make my own decisions.”

“I wouldn’t think Oakenshield would allow it.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “He doesn't ALLOW anything. Besides, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.”

“But it may kill you.”

Bilba’s eyes narrowed. Behind Glorfindel the rest of the Company had arrived but had paused, silently, sensing something unusual was going on. “Tell me, Glorfindel of Gondolin,” Bilba said in Sindarin, “with Morgul weapons leaving Mordor, how much danger does Middle Earth face?”

“Much,” Glorfindel said instantly, “and more if I do not warn those who might be able to stop it.”

“And how much greater would the danger be if a dragon were thrown into the mix?”

Glorfindel made an annoyed sound. “I shall return. If you but wait for me--”

In other words, for him to go from dragons not being his business to offering to come back and kill it, the answer was the danger would be MUCH greater.

They both knew she couldn't wait for him. It would take months to travel to Rivendell and many more for him to return. In that time Durin’s Day would pass and entry into the mountain would be denied them for another year, a year in which whatever darkness Glorfindel feared would have time to grow and spread in strength and power.

Bilba was beginning to realize the quest went far deeper than just getting Thorin his throne back. She thought back to Gandalf’s disappearance, followed by Radagast’s, to the rumors she’d heard, to the darkness hanging over Mirkwood and the orcs who hunted them with weapons originally crafted by the dark lord himself.

She didn’t have all the pieces. She didn’t fully understand what was going on, but she did know that, whatever it was, Smaug would make it ten thousand times worse.

Which meant Smaug had to die.

If she’d thought Thorin would throw a fit over her going in to retrieve the Arkenstone, she could only imagine what he’d think about her new plan.

She locked eyes with Glorfindel, steel running through hers. Middle Earth was her home too, every bit as much as it was Glorfindel’s, and she had the right to fight to protect it. Even if that fighting involved being wildly suicidal and reckless.

Glorfindel sighed and then quietly bowed before her. When he stood back up, his eyes held an ancient grief, speaking of friends and loved ones lost to darkness.

“I am honored to have met you, Bilba Baggins.”

Bilba curtsied back. “And I you, Glorfindel. May the Valar speed your travels.”

“And may they bless yours,” he returned, “until we meet again.”

Hopefully.

She watched as he turned to take his leave of the Company. A moment after that and he was gone, vanishing into the woods surrounding them.

Thorin approached. “What was that about?”

“We were discussing the merits of insulting orcs who are actively trying to kill you,” Bilba lied. “Apparently he doesn’t agree with the practice.”

Thorin’s eyes sparked with amusement. “He isn’t the only one.” He nodded at her back. “What do you have strapped to your back?”

“Arrows,” Bilba suppilied, “they’re too damaged for Kili to use but I thought I’d take them back as souvenirs. They smell less than a stuffed orc would.”

Guilt assaulted her at the lies falling off her tongue but she couldn’t afford to let Thorin know her plans. He would try to stop her and Bilba had already come to the understanding that Gandalf’s plan had merit. Dragons were curious by nature. Smaug would kill a dwarf outright but he would not kill her before knowing what she was first.

She hoped.

Thorin slid an arm around her waist and they began walking once more, every step bringing them closer to Erebor and the sleeping dragon within.

Bilba’s eyes slid to Kili. She would need him but had no idea if he’d go along with her idea.

Her stomach clenched, the nausea rising once more and she struggled to calm herself, hoping it would go away if she could get her nerves under control.

If by some miracle this worked then, by the Valar, she was stuffing the DRAGON and putting him in her front entrance.

Let Lobelia try to harass her THEN.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters till Smaug!! I am SO. VERY. EXCITED!!!!! For those of you who regularly leave comments and read my, often lengthy, replies this probably comes as no surprise. For everyone else, SO EXCITED!! :D :D :D :D
> 
> On a sidenote, I have posted the first chapter of a new story if anyone is interested!! It's called "Of Dwobbits, Dragons and Dwarves" and is a 100% Alternate Universe where dragons exist in abundance and form bonds with riders. It's a female Bilba again though her character is MUCH different than this Bilba. The story is a gift to my beta, Drenagon for all the work she's done helping me with Homeward Bound! My main focus will still be on Homeward Bound so the updates for D3 (as I have truncated "Of Dwobbits, Dragons and Dwarves) will be slower but not THAT much slower! So, anyway, if you're interested it's there and I hope you like it! :D
> 
> Now, ONWARD TO SMAUG!! :D


	39. Chapter 39

The next two weeks were suspiciously peaceful.

They managed to leave Mirkwood with no further attacks by orcs or spiders and without anyone setting the forest on fire.

Once they were out it was fairly flat land alongside a rushing river. They all had packs stuffed with supplies Thranduil had given them that, despite Dwalin’s grumblings, did not, in fact, appear to be poisoned.

Bilba was able to start training again though, to her annoyance, she soon discovered the three weeks of inactivity had done her no favors. Where she’d once flown through different sessions with ease she now barely made it halfway before she was bent over with her hands on her knees, panting and fighting off the beginnings of a roaring headache. Not to mention she woke up every morning to her entire body feeling sore and aching, to the point where she had areas sore that she didn't know could GET sore.

“Don’t worry about it,” Fili said, “it’ll come back to you. You just got out of practice, it happens to the best of us.”

She didn’t get better, however, and, what’s more, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of the tight feeling in her waistband or the small pouch of fat on her stomach no matter how hard she pushed herself in training.

She tried to limit herself when it came to food but, since Mirkwood, she’d found herself nearly salivating when dinner preparations began, particularly when those preparations involved bacon. Her love for bacon grew so intense, in fact, that she nearly drew her sword on Nori when he threatened to take a slice off her plate one evening.

The Company learned after that to not come between Bilba and her bacon. Not even her continued nausea which, though almost entirely controlled by Oin’s herbs, still continued to plague her from time to time could stop her love for the salted meat.

At the very least she’d stopped actually throwing up so she didn’t have to experience the taste and feel of bacon coming back UP.

Still, the nausea that refused to subside entirely, the fact she couldn’t get herself back into shape and the fact she couldn't seem to stop eating no matter how much she WANTED to did not leave her in the greatest of moods.

As such, her reaction to Lake-town was perfectly understandable.

Particularly when she saw the bridge leading to it.

“What is WRONG with all of you?” She shouted, turning on Thorin who, unfortunately for him, happened to be closest to her. “All the races of Middle Earth are CLEARLY insane! Not ONE of you believes in RAILINGS!”

Thorin’s eyes widened and he actually took a step back.

Nori took the opportunity to step forward and hug her. Bilba immediately sank against him, burying her face against his chest. The last thing she wanted to do was look at that Valar forsaken bridge.

“Did you see the bridge over the Brandywine back in the Shire?” she asked, her voice muffled. “It had RAILINGS. In fact, it had SIDES. Nice, beautiful, solid wood sides, the tops are even decorated.”

“That’s because Hobbits are clearly the most reasonable and rational of all races,” Nori said, sounding amused.

Bilba pulled back and glared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Are you placating me?”

Nori’s eyes widened. “Of course not.”

“Good,” Bilba took a breath and walked over to Thorin. Reaching up she grabbed the edges of his Coat of Majesty and said, “I’m. Not. Going.”

“Bilba,” Thorin said patiently, “it’s the only way to get to Lake-town, unless we find a boat, the likelihood of which is slim on this side of the lake.”

“That’s fine,” Bilba replied reasonably, “because I’m not going AT ALL. Who builds a town on a LAKE anyway?”

A few feet away, Fili’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “Bilba,” he said slowly, “were you unaware that Lake-town was on a lake?”

“Well who would think anyone would be that insane?” Bilba shot at him.

Thorin shrugged, “They’re humans.”

He had a point. This fact annoyed her.

Bilba had indeed somehow managed to entirely miss the fact that the name the humans had given to their town was actually an adjective and not a comment on the idea that there was a lake NEAR their town, as one with any sort of sanity would expect.

“I’ll carry you again,” Thorin said.

Bilba looked at him suspiciously, “Will you take your armor off?”

“Of course not,” he answered, horrified. “We have no idea what kind of reception we might face.”

“Then you’re useless,” Bilba snapped, beginning to step away from him.

He caught her hands, stopping her. Leaning in he kissed her slowly and long enough that her stomach began fluttering and her toes curled.

When he pulled away she glared at him again, though without any real heat to it. “That’s entirely unfair.”

“And yet utterly effective,” he said with a smile.

“Wrong,” Bilba muttered. “You still refuse to take your armor off and I still refuse to go.”

A wicked gleam, worthy of Nori, entered his eyes. “If you simply wanted to see me without my armor on all you had to do was ask.”

Bilba felt her face heat. A few feet away Fili groaned. “Cover your ears, Kili, you’re not old enough to hear such things.”

“I plan to never be old enough to hear such things. Not from Uncle,” Kili replied, his tone horrified.

Bilba took a step back and suddenly found herself being swept up in Nori’s arms, pack, arrows and all. She looked at him in surprise while, in front of her, Thorin growled.

“I have no armor on,” Nori said cheerfully, “I can carry you just fine.”

“Your clothes are loose,” Bilba said immediately, “if you fell off they’d tangle around you.”

She realized what she’d walked into as soon as she said it but it was far, far too late as Nori’s eyes glinted.

“I can take them off for you if you want.”

“And I can gut you like a fish,” Thorin said conversationally before Bilba could even begin to think of a response.

“Oh, for the love of Mahal,” a gruff voice rang out suddenly. A moment later Dwalin was plucking Bilba easily out of Nori’s arms and depositing her in Bombur’s. He removed her pack, and her coat wrapped arrows, and shoved them into Nori’s arms. Bilba tensed for a moment but the action had been so quick that Dwalin didn’t seem to have noticed the arrows didn’t feel quite as broken as she’d claimed they were.

“He falls off, he’ll float,” Dwalin said shortly, “and I’ll personally kick the lot of them in after you.”

“Even Thorin and Nori?” Bilba asked innocently.

“Especially those two,” Dwalin grumbled. “May even do it if you DON’T fall in.”

He stalked away and began to head over the bridge. The others of the Company started as well, their boots sounding as they hit the wood. Bilba flinched as each one struck, expecting the entire thing to collapse.

It didn’t and, soon enough, the only ones left were Thorin, Fili, Kili, Nori and then her and Bombur.

Bombur looked down at her, sympathetically. “Ready?”

“No,” Bilba said, her voice quiet. She wrung her hands, clasping them anxiously in front of her chest. One hand went up to clasp at Thorin’s ring, still worn around her neck. She’d offered it back after Thorin had given her the braid but he’d insisted she keep it. “But I suppose we should go anyway before Dwalin gets even more annoyed.”

They moved forward and Bilba shut her eyes immediately, fighting back a small whimper as she heard the clunk signifying they had stepped onto the bridge.

As they continued on a cool breeze, heavy with the smell of water, swirled around them and she felt her body growing tense. All she could think was the water mere feet away and how dark it was and how it would feel closing over her head and dragging her down. She could see herself under the water, reaching up desperately toward the sun shining on the surface but unable to reach it.

She was aware she was shaking and a dull roar had started in her ears. She held herself as still as possible, convinced the slightest movement would cause her to somehow fall off the edge of the bridge and into the water.

A low voice spoke but she couldn’t understand the words. Bombur stopped, however, and a moment later she felt herself being transferred to someone else, strong arms wrapping around her back and under her legs. By this time Bilba was nearly panting with fear, her breathing hitching inside her lungs every time she inhaled.

“We’re almost there,” Thorin’s voice, rumbled in her ear.

“You’re lying,” Bilba said passionately, her voice almost a sob. She slid her arms around his neck and curled against him, her fingers tangling in his hair. She could feel the blood pounding in her temples from the stress she felt and tried, unsuccessfully, to calm down.

After what felt like an eternity they stopped and she was vaguely aware of the sound of voices she didn’t recognize speaking. Someone, Dwalin perhaps, answered back. A moment later a rumbling started and she felt a vibration running through the bridge, so strong she could feel it even from her position in Thorin’s arms. She whimpered. Her nausea increased, putting Thorin at serious risk of being thrown up on, and she felt lightheaded and faint.

“It’s all right,” she dimly heard Thorin saying through the roaring, “it’s just the gate opening.”

They started walking again after that and then there were more voices she didn’t know. She couldn’t understand anything they said and it seemed to go on forever. At one point one of the voices grew louder and suddenly Fili’s voice was right in front of her, speaking sharply. The strange voice drew back and then it was more walking and more talking and she was quite sure she was going to go out of her mind if they didn’t STOP soon. She risked opening her ones just once; a mere slit, and realized there were bursts of light and black spots floating in her vision. Beyond them she caught a brief glimpse of the back of Fili’s coat and noticed an odd, almost rainbow on the fur and dancing in his hair. She squeezed her eyes shut again.

Thorin’s stance changed suddenly and she realized they were walking up a short flight of steps. She risked another glance out from Thorin’s chest and saw Dwalin standing at a door, holding it open for them to pass in.

As soon as they were in the door shut behind them, closing out the sight of water if not the smell. Thorin didn’t pause, making for a second set of stairs leading to a second floor. Once on the landing he walked through the nearest door and gently set her on the bed in the room.

Bilba had no sooner been set down than she was lunging off the bed. She’d caught a glimpse of a bathroom through an open door in the room and barely made it to the toilet before she was violently ill. She vaguely felt Thorin’s hand on her back and felt a surge of embarrassment at him seeing her that way.

When she was done she groaned and simply sagged down next to the toilet, wedging herself between it and the counter. Her eyesight was still going crazy so she shut her eyes again.

“Bilba.”

“Shut up and go away,” Bilba said, waving a hand weakly. “Just let me die in peace.”

Pressure was beginning to build up behind her temples and she clenched her teeth at the promise of pain once it finally switched over from pressure to what could only be the beginnings of a titanic migraine. Beyond that she felt weak, wrung out and exhausted and quite sure she would not be moving from her spot for the foreseeable future.

She felt Thorin’s hands on her and considered cursing at him but changed her mind; it would take effort and she had none to spare.

He managed to slide her out from her very comfortable spot and picked her up again. The action caused a wave of dizziness which, in turn, caused another bout of nausea that had her clapping a hand over her mouth.

Thorin went still, his own eyes wide.

After a moment the feeling subsided and Thorin carefully carried her back into the room and settled her on the bed once again.

Bilba sank into the mattress gratefully, almost groaning at the feel of it molding to her body. She opened her eyes to the merest slits and waved a hand vaguely, relaxing when Thorin grabbed it in his own. “Where are we?”

Thorin sat on the edge of the bed next to her. “Apparently our return was quite welcome by the people of Lake-town. They’re excited about the prospect of the return of the true King under the Mountain.”

Bilba frowned. “Probably more excited about the King under the Mountain’s gold.”

Thorin shrugged. “Be that as it may, they offered us lodging until we have to leave for the mountain.”

Bilba’s studied him hazily, trying to think past the pounding in her head. “And you just took it without question?” That didn’t seem like him, at all.

“I was a little more concerned about you,” he responded. “I thought it important to get you inside as soon as possible.”

“For which I am extraordinarily grateful,” Bilba said sincerely. A new thought occurred to her. “Why do we need a house? How long is it until Durin’s Day?”

Thorin didn’t answer her. Bilba tried to push up on her elbows only to immediately rethink her decision as nausea gripped her again.

“Thorin,” she said, her voice strengthening, “how long until Durin’s Day?”

He hesitated before answering. “Two weeks.”

Bilba stared at him.

Two weeks. Two weeks, the majority of which would be stuck in a stupid town on a stupid LAKE surrounded by WATER just waiting for her to drown in.

“I’m breaking up with you,” she said finally. “I have decided you are an evil, evil dwarf.”

And, with that, she, carefully, rolled on her side to face the wall.

As she did she noticed, for the first time, the slightest movement of the bed under her from the water below and made a small sound of despair.

There was no possible way she could handle being here for that long, no way at all.

Behind her she felt Thorin get up and heard him moving.

A few minutes later the bed dipped and she felt him pressing up behind her wearing only, from what she could tell, his tunic and trousers. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her back against him, tucking her head just under his chin and twining his legs with hers.

Bilba soon felt his body heat radiating into her back, easing tense muscles and causing her to slowly relax.

Bilba started to calm down somewhat though she doubted anything would stave off the migraine now.

She snuggled back against him and closed her eyes to wait out her body’s attempt to betray her.

Maybe, just maybe, she could make it through this week and a half after all.

“I’ll try to get us out sooner,” he promised. “We’ll need to refresh our supplies and find passage over to the shore. We’ll camp there until we have to head for the mountain.”

They should have done that in the first place, Bilba thought, even if the supplies Thranduil had given them had been running low.

That or she could have walked around to the other side. She would take the possibility of Azog coming back over this.

“It won’t be long,” Thorin said, squeezing gently, “I’ll get us off as soon as possible. I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” Bilba managed to mumble. She had no doubt Thorin would do everything in his power, though she didn’t know how she’d ever deal with a boat ride to get to the opposite shore. Still, she was grateful.

Not that it didn’t mean Thorin wouldn’t owe her, FOR LIFE for convincing her to come to this Valar forsaken town in the first place.

 

*                       *                       *

As she’d thought, she soon found herself in the grip of a migraine for the ages. Bilba felt as though a pike had been driven into her skull and was convinced that, if she reached her hand up, she’d be able to touch broken pieces of skull under her hair.

She did not reach her hand up, though, because that would require movement and even the slightest caused her stomach to rebel against her in an almost savage manner. Suddenly she couldn’t move without triggering intense nausea, her stomach cramping so badly all she could do was curl up in a ball and cry in pain and misery. Crying of course made her head pound even more but she couldn’t seem to stop, the tears coming no matter how hard she tried to hold them back.

Thorin was there as much as possible but he was also gone a lot, trying to negotiate them leaving as quickly as possible. He apologized when he was there, swearing he hadn’t realized just how bad things would be for her. Seeing as how Bilba hadn’t realized it either she couldn’t particularly blame him.

When he was there she would curl up against his chest and bury her face against his shoulder, shivering as he rubbed her back and arms and tried to comfort her. He would talk to her quietly, telling her about the latest rounds of negotiations with the leader of Lake-town, a man whose title was the Master.

If she hadn’t been so miserable she might have made a smart comment about so pretentious a title but, as it was, she just listened. From what she could tell the Master was a truly odious man who, as Bilba had suspected, had so completely welcomed the dwarves in hopes of getting his hands on some of the gold rumored to be in the Mountain. Thorin was forced to negotiate not because he cared more about the gold than her but because the Master’s demands were so ridiculous that to agree would not only bankrupt Erebor but would likely leave the Master as the King under the Mountain instead of Thorin or his heirs.

When Thorin couldn’t be there Fili or Kili, or sometimes both, were. They would lay on the bed with her and she could curl against them as much as she did with Thorin, burying her face against their chest, a hand usually clutching at their shirt. Her other hand would always be holding onto Thorin’s ring, so hard at times the edges would cut into her palm. She thought perhaps she had an argument with Kili at some point about the possibility of her head actually exploding but the memory was vague and it could have been an odd dream.

Oin was in there quite a bit too, trying to get her to drink different brews of this herb or that until she nearly started crying from being forced to sit up all the time and Fili threw him out.

In the end, the only thing she could do was ride it out.

 

*                      *                       *

When she woke up to find her mind clear and her headache gone she froze, convinced she was either dreaming or the pain was simply torturing her and would return the second she moved.

She opened her eyes carefully, barely a slit, and found her vision clear and unhampered. Her nausea was gone as well, for the moment at least, and in spite of the rocking motion she could still feel from the water below the house.

She felt exhausted, worn out in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, but she didn’t feel sick or in pain.

The relief almost made her cry.

She became aware she was lying curled up on her side, facing into the room. She’d not really given it much notice before but now she could see it was actually quite a nice space. It was built of thick slabs of wood, securely fastened and weatherized to keep out the worst of the moisture from the lake. A dresser sat against one wall with a sturdy looking chair and a thick, warm looking rug lay on the floor. An open door off to the side led to the bathroom, a room she was well acquainted with.

Shifting slightly, Bilba realized she was wearing different clothing and, in spite of having been in bed a long time, and having spent much of that time throwing up, she was clean and comfortable and the bedding wrapped around her was in the same condition.

Meaning someone had been taking care of her in a way that, depending on who it had been, might well cause her to die of mortification on the spot.

Moving as carefully as possible, she looked through the slats of the headboard, trying to see the rest of the room, and spotted Thorin leaning against the window, staring out.

“Thorin,” she rasped out and frowned at how raw her voice sounded.

There was movement and then Thorin was sinking down, carefully, on the bed next to her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Bilba mumbled, “which, I must say, is an improvement over how I’ve been feeling.”

Thorin smiled at her. “You’ve been nearly insensible for two days.”

Bilba raised an eyebrow. “That long?”

Thorin gently pushed a strand of hair off her face. “Indeed. I’m glad to see you feeling better.”

“Hmmm,” Bilba said. “Are we leaving soon?”

Thorin’s eyes darkened. “Dwalin wishes me to give him permission to beat the Master to an unrecognizable pulp.”

Bilba sighed. “That bad, huh? Maybe you should let him.”

“Believe me it’s been a temptation difficult to resist,” Thorin replied. “Do you think you can eat anything? You’ve had little in the last two days.”

Now that he pointed it out Bilba realized her stomach did feel somewhat like a bottomless chasm. She nodded. “Maybe just some soup?”

Thorin got up immediately, a relieved look on his face. “I’ll be right back.”

He started to leave the room and, as he did, Bilba called out, “Thorin?”

“Yes?” He turned toward her immediately.

Bilba hesitated, feeling her face heat. She gestured toward herself awkwardly, “um, who…I mean…these clothes….and you said two days…so…so who--”

“Dori and Oin,” Thorin replied. “I thought, of all the Company, they’re the ones you’d feel the most at ease with.”

He was right. Oin was a doctor so she was sure he was used to things like that and Dori, well, he was mature and a mother hen anyway and she trusted him. It was still mortifying, humiliating and every other synonym she could think of but at least it hadn’t been THORIN, or Fili, or Kili or, Valar forbid, --

“Nori volunteered,” Thorin said mildly, cutting into her train of thought, “but I told him I’d murder him and drop his corpse down a mineshaft once we reclaimed Erebor.”

Bilba felt the corners of her lips twitch and tried to bite it back. “And what about his share of the treasure? He did sign a contract and travel halfway across the world after all.”

He shrugged casually. “I’ll throw it down after him.”

This time Bilba couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “Very honorable of you.”

“Of course.” Thorin turned on his heel and opened the door, stepping through to the landing outside. As he went he called over his shoulder, “let it never be said I’m not a dwarf of my word.”

Then he was heading downstairs, Bilba’s laugh following after.

 

*                       *                       *

It was a few days later, during which Bilba had remained in bed trying to recover and forget they were on water, that she was pulled from a deep sleep by the feel of Fili shaking her shoulder.

“Bilba? I’m sorry but could you wake up, just for a second?”

Bilba mumbled something appropriately threatening and heard him chuckle in response. Feeling as though she were swimming through muck, Bilba dragged herself to consciousness and blearily opened her eyes to glare at Fili. She’d commandeered nearly every extra blanket and pillow in the house so she imagined, particularly given the amused look he was giving her, that she didn’t look very intimidating swaddled in her mountain of bedding.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice deeply annoyed.

Fili backed up and gestured toward the foot of the bed. “I was hoping you could tell our little surprise guest that we have not, in fact, kidnapped you and don’t normally keep you chained in the basement.”

Bilba blinked. "Do we have a basement?" she mumbled absently to herself. She ran the words slowly through her mind several times before deciding that, no, she actually had heard them correctly.

She pushed the covers back, flinching at the cold rush of air, and the general aching feeling she always got when recovering from being ill, and maneuvered to a sitting position. Once up she wedged herself into the corner between the wall and the headboard and then dragged the blankets and pillows around herself once more.

Only then did she finally direct her attention to the foot of the bed where Fili had been indicating.

A small, human girl was standing there, arms folded across her chest.

Bilba frowned in confusion. She had little experience with humans outside of the Rangers and almost none with human children. Due to that it was difficult to estimate the girl’s age though she would guess she was a child by the measure of any of the races, probably not even a Tween yet by the standards of Hobbits. She had short, curly blond hair and dark eyes and wore a dress that Bilba thought was far too cold for a place like Lake-town but she didn’t seem to mind.

Currently she was shooting a look of righteous indignation at Fili, of the sort that only the very young can pull off.

“Hello,” Bilba said slowly, “who might you be?”

“Tilda,” the girl announced, lifting her chin slightly. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” Bilba repeated.

Fili was nearly dying from the effort of not laughing. “She came in through the window,” he said. “I had to pull her in the last few feet, for which I received a rather solid elbow to the ribs.”

The little girl looked smug but Bilba frowned. “That wasn’t very nice,” she admonished, “he was trying to help you.”

The girl looked startled. “But he’s a bad man!”

“Bad dwarf,” Bilba corrected absently. Fili raised an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes at him in reply before responding to the girl again. “Why do you think he’s bad?”

“I heard the others at the market,” Tilda said. “They said the dwarves came in with a little girl like me and no one has seen her since so she must have been kidnapped and is being held prisoner!”

“Little girl?” Bilba said, “I’m not a little girl!”

“Well you ARE pretty small,” Fili replied. Bilba glared at him, her eyes promising certain doom if he didn’t retract or amend his statement at once. “And you were being carried so your height wouldn’t have been obvious.” When her expression didn’t thaw he cut his eyes to the side, thinking fast. “Also, Thorin is rather large, even for a dwarf, so it probably made you look even smaller, especially with how curled up you were.” He smiled at her, clearly convinced he’d safely navigated that particular area.

Bilba frowned. “Have you been hearing that rumor?”

Fili shook his head. “Not at all and most of the Company has been out and about the last few days, particularly Thorin.” He shrugged. “I imagine they’re just bored and it’s something to talk about. Anyone who saw us could see how you were holding onto Uncle, not to mention it’s unlikely we’d have been treated so well by the leaders here if they thought we were holding someone captive.”

Bilba nodded. All valid points, but not necessarily points a little girl would think of after hearing such rumors.

She turned her attention back to Tilda. “So, you overheard people at the market saying I’d been kidnapped?”

Tilda nodded.

“And you decided, on your own, to break into a house full of possible kidnappers and rescue me yourself?”

“I left a note,” Tilda explained, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Just so Sigrid would know where I’d gone.”

“Well,” Bilba said solemnly, “I’m sure Sigrid will be here soon then, probably with most of the town’s guard.”

Fili muttered something under his breath and got up from where he’d dropped into a chair, leaving the room and calling for Dwalin.

As soon as he was gone Tilda was by her side, tugging on her arm. “Come on, while he’s gone! Let’s go!”

“Sweetie,” Bilba gently pulled her arm back, “I haven’t been kidnapped and I’m certainly not a prisoner. I’ve just been sick.”

Down below a rapid knocking sounded suddenly, so loud Bilba could hear it all the way upstairs. With it came the sound of a voice shouting through the door. Bilba heard the door opened and a rush of raised voices.

She sighed. “I imagine that’s Sigrid,” she said dryly to Tilda. The little girl’s eyes had widened and, as footsteps sounded on the stairs, she drew back against the bed as if she now expected Bilba to be the one doing the protecting.

A moment later a second girl burst into the room, trailed closely by Fili. She was older than Tilda, probably well into her Tweens by Hobbit standards. She had the same blonde hair and features as Tilda, though hers were currently schooled into a mix of anger and panic.

“Tilda!” she all but shouted. “What were you THINKING?”

Tilda shrank. “I wanted to rescue her!” she said, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to stand her ground. “I heard the fishermen talking, they said she was kidnapped!”

“You know as well as I do that they like to spin tales, Tilda,” Sigrid said. “Do you really think Da would allow it if he thought anyone was being held prisoner here?”

Bilba wondered who her Da was that he would have any say in the matter. Was he a leader in the town?

“I already explained to her I wasn’t being held prisoner,” Bilba explained, “but she seems fairly committed to the idea.”

The other girl, who she assumed was indeed the Sigrid that Tilda had mentioned, started and looked at her as though truly seeing her for the first time. Her entire face flushed bright red.

“I am so sorry!” she said. “You’re sick and here we come barging in like this!”

“It’s all right,” Bilba said even though, truth be told, she was already tiring from having been forced to sit up longer than she had in days. Not only that but the cold that seemed to perpetually permeate Lake-town was slowly creeping through even the giant mound of blankets she had wrapped around her, causing her to shiver.

Downstairs the door slammed open suddenly with so much force that Bilba, Sigrid and Tilda all jumped. Immediately after that she heard the raised voice of Thorin combined with an equally angry sounding unfamiliar voice. Bilba sent a questioning look at Sigrid who flushed in guilt.

“I sent my brother to get our father,” she said. “I was worried about Tilda.”

“Which is why you rushed into the same unknown situation she was in,” Bilba said dryly. She sighed and dropped her head on her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs.

Below Dwalin’s voice had joined in as had another few of the Company.

“Sigrid,” Bilba said mildly, “could you go tell your father we haven’t kidnapped you before a war starts?”

Sigrid nodded. “Come on Tilda.”

Tilda put her arms back across her chest, her expression becoming obstinate. “No, not until they let her go!”

“Oh, for--” Sigrid flailed her arms in exasperation, “she hasn’t been kidnapped, Tilda!”

“She’s just saying that because she’s scared,” Tilda insisted. She glared at Fili. “It’s because HE’S in here so she’s too scared to say she was kidnapped.”

Sigrid looked annoyed but, below, the voices were getting louder and more agitated so, with a sound of pure frustration, she whirled on one foot and stomped out. Fili straightened from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe to let her pass.

“Fili,” Bilba said, deliberately letting herself look, and sound, as exhausted and pitiful, as possible. “Could you please go tell Thorin that I want him? Right now?”

Fili nodded, his expression considering and vanished out the door behind her. Below the voices had dropped to a low murmur so at least it sounded like Sigrid had managed to prevent bloodshed.

As soon as he was gone Tilda was back to trying to get Bilba to escape from the window again.

“Are you trying to rescue me now,” Bilba said, tone considering, “or just escape your father?”

Footsteps were sounding on the stairs and, a moment later, Thorin strode into the room, looking greatly annoyed. Behind him came Sigrid and a tall, dark haired man she assumed was the father.

Suddenly self-conscious, Bilba pulled her blankets tighter around her. Somewhat to her surprise, the man seemed to notice.

Giving the parental finger point of doom, common to all races, he indicated Tilda.

“Hallway,” he ordered, “now.”

The little girl’s eyes widened and she stiffened before obediently walking past him into the hall. He followed her out with Sigrid right behind them. Outside Bilba heard the sound of voices start up again, mainly the man’s, though it was too low to hear what they were saying.

Thorin sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. Without warning he flopped back across the bed, drawing one knee up and draping an arm across his eyes.

Bilba grinned. “That bad?”

Thorin made an annoyed sound. “The Master, as he so likes to be addressed, is an utter fool. He’s so greedy that, rather than settle for an outrageous amount, he demands it all.”

Bilba reached out and patted him on the arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Perhaps we should just leave without supplies and make our way around the lake?”

She didn’t deny her voice sounded hopeful. Thorin dropped his arm and turned his head to look at her. “And risk the orcs catching up to us once more? Not to mention there is nothing to eat from here to the Mountain. It’s all a desolate waste now, thanks to the dragon.”

Bilba’s face fell and he pushed up on his side, leaning on one elbow. He clasped his hands together on the bed and looked down at the spread as though it might hold the answers.

“What if we asked someone else?” Bilba said. “We could pay them.”

“They’re all in fear of the Master,” Thorin replied, “too frightened of retaliation to go against him.”

“Not all of us,” a deep voice answered, “just some.”

The father of the two girls was back, standing in the doorway. Sigrid was standing near him while Tilda was hiding behind him.

He bowed now to Bilba, politely. “I wanted to apologize for Tilda,” he said. “She gets ideas into her head sometimes and has trouble letting them go. I am Bard, by the way. You’ve already met my girls.”

“Bilba Baggins,” Bilba responded immediately. She nodded to Thorin. “The grumpy one is Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin scowled at her. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Of course you are,” Bilba said, placating. “It’s little wonder Tilda thought I’d been kidnapped, walking around brooding all the time like you do.”

“I do not brood.”

Bilba sighed theatrically. “You really kind of do.”

She shot a conspiratorial look toward Tilda, still peeking out from behind the long coat Bard wore. “You see what I have to put up with?”

The girl giggled.

“What YOU have to put up with?” Thorin growled. “What about me? I have to put up with that idiot Master every day. All I want is a boat and supplies and he demands virtually the entire kingdom of Erebor in response!”

“Da has a boat,” Tilda piped up suddenly. Thorin’s head snapped around so fast it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself.

“And also no love for the Master,” Bard said, sounding amused. “Though I would know why you are in need of it.”

Thorin pushed up off the bed to face the man. “We can talk about it downstairs. Bilba needs to sleep.”

“And forget I’m on a stupid lake,” Bilba muttered.

Tilda hesitated, her eyes still unsure. “So you won’t let her go outside then?”

“Of course not,” Thorin said, his voice horrified. “She’d take three steps and fall in the lake and I’d have to jump in after her.”

“I don’t want you to jump in after me,” Bilba shot back. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “As I recall I told you to stay in Rivendell."

"And I might have if you'd told me the town was on a LAKE."

"I told you the name!”

“You weren’t clear! Any SANE person would assume it was BY a lake, not ON the thing.” She huffed, pulling the blankets so tight around her she nearly vanished into them. “So I don’t want you saving me. You can send Nori.”

“That won’t be possible.”

“Why not?”

Thorin glowered. “I’ve decided to move up the date of his mysterious disappearance.”

"It might not be so mysterious if you keep talking about it."

Thorin just grinned rather wolfishly at her. "Details."

Bilba rolled her eyes. “You're beginning to concern me.”

Thorin shrugged. “I should be concerning NORI.”

Bilba caught Bard’s eye and saw he was looking between her and Thorin with amusement.

Thorin seemed to realize they had an audience as well for he turned and gestured toward the door.

“Well, shall we?”

Bard agreed and he and the girls made their good-byes before heading out. A moment later Fili returned, taking up his customary seat beside her bed.

Bilba sighed and flopped back down.

“Don’t wake me up unless the dragon suddenly attacks,” she groused, then paused. “In fact, not even then.”

And, with that, she went back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	40. Chapter 40

Bilba woke to the feeling of the bed dipping and opened her eyes to see Thorin settling on the mattress beside her. He sat with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him. His arms were folded across his chest and the expression on his face was annoyed.

Bilba sighed and reached a hand out to lightly rest on his thigh. “What did you say to him?”

Thorin replied with something particularly rude about Bard, not looking at her. The sun was beginning to go down, lengthening the shadows in the room; she must have been asleep several hours she thought idly.

“That’s not very helpful,” she said calmly.

“Why do you assume I did something?”

Bilba yawned. “You do tend to say things you shouldn’t.”

He gave her an appraising look. “You yelled at Thranduil.”

Bilba frowned. “He locked you in a dungeon for two weeks," she grumbled, "and I had no idea where you were! Of course I yelled at him". The memory brought back the feelings of horror and fear she’d felt back then and she scooted closer, wrapped both arms around his leg and pillowed her head on his thigh.

He reached down and put a hand on her head in reassurance, lightly playing with her braid. “Good point,” he conceded his voice gentle. He was silent another second and then, his tone teasing, asked, “What about Gandalf?”

Bilba winced. She’d hoped he’d forgotten about that one. “We didn’t need to hire a boat from him,” she finally said lamely.

Thorin was not impressed. “And Radagast?”

“I was not yelling at him,” Bilba defended, deliberately trying to pitch her voice as innocent as possible. “I was just asking him a few--”

“-- dozen --“ Thorin interrupted, amused.

“ -- questions,” Bilba finished dryly. “Anyway, you should let me talk to Bard.”

“Why?” Thorin asked, “So you can yell him into submission?”

Bilba smacked him lightly, feeling the muscles in his thigh jump slightly from the contact though Thorin didn’t react. “I got Thranduil to let us go, didn’t I?”

“I seem to remember Glorfindel having a hand in that,” Thorin said mildly, amusement leaking into his voice.

Bilba made a non-committal sound and snuggled in tighter around his leg, allowing her eyes to drift shut again. She made another noise, one of displeasure, a few moments later when she felt him shift suddenly; pulling her partway out of the light doze she’d been in.

Thorin said something quiet and she felt him pulling out of her hold for a moment only to settle next, drawing her back in. Still half asleep, Bilba happily rearranged herself so her head and one hand were resting on his shoulder and chest. It left her other arm in an uncomfortable position under her body but she could live with it. She felt Thorin’s arm slide around her back, his hand on her waist and then felt him relax.

Priscilla would kill her if she saw Bilba sleeping in the same bed with Thorin, intended or not. Bilba sighed and relaxed, sleep pulling at her.

She just wouldn’t tell Priscilla.

She fell asleep.

The dream started immediately.

_She stood on a rocky ledge set into the side of a mountain. Around her the rest of the Company sprawled in sleep, their forms still and quiet._

_Directly in front of her a dark opening led into the mountain._

_On either side of the door stood two armored figures, young and slim, with shoulder length dark hair and the barest hint of stubble that might one day grow into beards. Both had their heads down and held swords gripped in their hands, points resting on the ground._

_She didn’t recognize them but, for whatever reason, a powerful sense of relief washed over her. She started to rush forward only to stop short as they both vanished, their images breaking apart like smoke and drifting away on the wind._

_She found herself, instead, mere inches from the black opening leading inside the mountain. A cool breeze wafted out from it and she could hear the faint sound of water dripping._

_This was her last chance._

_She didn’t know how she knew but she did. This was her last chance to turn away, aside…back._

_If she took one more step her path would be locked, no more side paths, no more opportunities to make another choice._

_She would have to continue on the path laid out before her, no matter where it led._

_She took a deep breath, one hand going up to grasp Thorin’s ring where it hung around her neck. It felt like ice in her hand, the cold so intense it nearly burned. It spread outward until her entire body shook with it and the breath she released frosted in the air before her face._

_Footsteps crunched on the dirt and she turned to see the two from before had returned. They stepped up on either side of her, their faces grim, each gripping their swords in one hand. They angled their bodies toward the entrance._

_Two sets of identical, crystal blue eyes settled on her, two identical expressions of determination._

_The message was clear. They would go with her no matter what path she chose._

_She took a deep breath and faced the darkness once more._

_She stepped forward._

The sound of heavy footsteps thumping up the stairs broke into her consciousness and Bilba stirred, her eyes flickering open to stare blearily into the room. She was startled to see it was now growing light instead of dark, apparently she’d been asleep the entire night though it felt like she’d barely shut her eyes a moment earlier.

Had she had another dream? If she had it was gone, as all the others were, but she felt the strange sense of foreboding she normally had after one.

Dwalin appeared in the doorway a bowl of soup held in one hand.

“Oin ordered me to bring up your breakfast,” he said, coming forward.

Bilba pushed up off Thorin’s chest and reached her hands out to take the bowl. “Thank you, Dwalin.”

He grunted, before addressing Thorin who, up to that point, hadn’t moved. “You can get your own.”

“Fine way to treat your King,” Thorin muttered, his eyes still closed.

Dwalin turned and started to stomp back out, grumbling, “I’ll treat you better once we take back the mountain. Till then, get your own food.”

“Somehow,” Thorin said, “I doubt his treatment will change even then.”

“You’re probably right,” Bilba said cheerfully. She shifted until she had her back against the wall, settling her legs over Thorin’s waist. When he opened his eyes and looked at her she just shrugged. “I probably won’t change how I treat you either.”

“Nice to know you'll both be there to make sure I don't get a big head,” Thorin replied dryly.

Bilba grinned. "We live to serve, my King."

He stretched as best he could in such a cramped position and then pulled up to a sitting position, managing not to upset her as he did.

“Do you want to join me downstairs?”

Bilba cocked her head as though considering. “Are we still on a stupid lake?”

“We are.”

“Then no.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why is the bed any safer than the rest of the house?”

Bilba lowered the bowl and, as sweetly as possible, asked, “Why are we still stuck in this stupid house on this stupid lake when you told me we’d leave earlier?”

Thorin grimaced. “Because Bard thinks we’re going to wake up the dragon and it’ll burn down Lake-town.”

Bilba frowned. “What does Lake-town have to do with it? Why wouldn’t it just eat us and then go back to sleep?”

“Because the man is a paranoid bastard,” Thorin groused.

Bilba’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t actually TELL him that did you?”

He said nothing, his eyes fixed on the far wall.

Bilba gave a long suffering sigh. “Tell him I want to talk to him, please?”

“It won’t do any good.”

“Then it won’t hurt will it?” Bilba answered. She slid her legs off him, got up, shoved the almost empty bowl into his hands and then leaned forward to kiss him quite thoroughly. When she pulled back several long minutes later they were both breathing heavily and Bilba felt quite flushed.

“I think,” Thorin said, his voice huskier than usual, “you’re trying to use my own tactics against me.”

Bilba grinned. “They are effective.”

He studied her, his eyes heated and Bilba felt her own face heat in embarrassment. She pulled back and then pushed at his shoulder. “Go! Bring me Bard!”

Thorin groused but got up, taking her bowl with him. “It may take time. Not all of us are at your beck and call you know. Not to mention he could just refuse.”

“He won’t,” Bilba said with assurance, “He’ll still have residual guilt over his daughters barging in on me. He’ll come.”

Thorin gave her an assessing look but Bilba put on her most innocent face and then lifted an eyebrow inquisitively.

Thorin shook his head, smirking in amusement and then left.

Bilba watched him go and settled back in the bed again. Idly she lifted her hand to wrap around Thorin’s ring at her throat.

It felt strangely cold.

 

***

 

Thorin had barely left the house before Nori appeared in her doorway, her pack and jacket wrapped arrows in his hands. It was the first time Bilba had been alone, Fili and Kili off getting supplies and more arrows respectively. Now that she was on the mend they didn’t feel as though they had to babysit her every second Thorin wasn’t there.

“I was wondering where that all went,” Bilba said, holding her hands out. “Hand them over.” She tried to keep her voice light and her movements slow but it was difficult. She'd been worrying over the arrows since she'd been coherent enough TO worry.

He stepped in and set her pack down but kept hold of her wrapped arrows, idly pretending to study them. “I’ll happily hand them over,” he said mildly, “if you’d be willing to explain why they’re not broken like you said they were.”

Bilba cursed. She’d been afraid the longer he had the arrows the more chance he would look at them but, at the same time, she knew if she had insisted on having them back sooner it’d guarantee he would examine them.

Really she’d been in trouble from the moment Dwalin had taken them and handed them to Nori.

She indicated the chair next to her bed and he took it, leaning forward.

“Did you tell anyone else?” she asked, chewing on her lower lip.

His eyes flashed for a brief instant and Bilba, for the first time, had a sudden realization that this was not someone she ever wanted against her.

“Did I tell anyone you’re carrying around unbroken, Morgul shaft arrows instead of the broken, normal arrows you claimed they were? No I didn’t.”

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, his posture clearly stating she better convince him why he shouldn’t tell anyone.

So she did. Bilba laid out all the things she’d seen along the way showing her that there were far bigger things going on in Middle Earth than just the Quest. Gandalf’s actions, the White Council at Rivendell he’d been so worried about, Radagast, Glorfindel and his mission and warnings. Nori never changed expression and Bilba wondered if perhaps none of what she was saying came as any surprise to him.

“You and I both know I’m not walking in there and finding the Arkenstone without waking up that dragon,” Bilba said finally, studying him.

He shrugged. “Way I understood it Thorin had no intention of allowing you inside the mountain regardless. I imagine, with the way things stand now, his convictions will be even stronger on that front.”

“Which is why I didn’t tell anyone about the arrows,” Bilba said, her voice pitched low.

Nori frowned. “And, why, pray tell, must it be you who goes in?”

“Because I believe Gandalf was right,” Bilba insisted. “Smaug won’t know what I am. You know the legends about dragons; they have an almost insatiable curiosity. He won’t kill me until he finds out.”

“You place a lot of faith in a theory,” Nori said, his voice more serious than she’d ever heard it. “What if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ll confuse him with a riddle,” Bilba said shortly. “The legends are true. I know they are. Dragons have an insatiable curiosity, a need to know everything. He won’t be able to resist finding out what I am, especially if I throw in riddles after that.” Nori’s expression still hadn’t changed and Bilba leaned in closer. “And it won’t be for long. I’ll simply be distracting him, just for a moment.” She reached out and set a hand on his hand where it rested on his knee. “You know it’s a better plan than the one we had.”

“It’s a dangerous plan,” Nori said, his voice angry. “You could die.”

“I could have died a half dozen times on this quest already,” Bilba said dryly. “You could have died too, or Ori or Dori or anyone else.” She saw his jaw tighten at the names of his brothers and hastened to add, “We’re all adults, Nori. We came of our own free will knowing full well the dangers we’d face.”

Well, okay, she hadn’t REALLY known all the dangers, or the fact that Lake-town was actually ON a lake, and she doubted Nori had expected anything other than Smaug to try and eat them but, still, they were all adults regardless. She also knew if she didn’t convince him now all her plans would be right out the window.

“We’re going to the hidden door regardless,” she said. “Which plan do you think has the better chance of working, mine or Thorin’s?”

There was no contest and they both knew it. If they followed the original plan exactly Bilba would have entered the mountain, tried to locate one gem in a treasure hoard without waking up a dragon, get it all the way back to Blue Mountains, hope the dwarves held to their word, then return and hope they could kill the dragon in spite of the fact that the entire army of Erebor had been useless against said dragon. And that was assuming the dragon didn’t wake up in the meantime, realize they had been there and come after them or, worse, get involved in whatever had Glorfindel and the Council so upset and make things a thousand times worse. In other words, even if the plan SUCEEDED it could still end up failing, in the end.

Her plan, if it worked, would succeed in truth. Erebor would be free, the dragon would be dead and unable to bother them again or get involved in whatever else was going on in Middle Earth.

Assuming Bilba could distract it. Assuming the arrow worked on him the same way Glorfindel and the legends claimed it worked on others. Assuming it killed him quickly. Assuming the aim was true when the arrow was fired.

“You’ll need an archer,” Nori said, his voice startling her. “And a good one at that.”

Bilba took a deep breath. “I was sort of hoping you might help me with that.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I need to talk to Kili,” Bilba said, “alone. You know how hard it is to get him away from Fili, even for a second.”

Her gut twisted as she spoke. She was dragging Nori into her deception and soon would have Kili involved as well, forcing him to lie to both his brother and Thorin. What if she got him killed? How would she ever face Thorin again?

Well, her mind supplied immediately, odds were if the dragon killed Kili it would kill her too so she probably wouldn’t have to face Thorin, or anyone else. She sighed, twisting her hands in her lap. Maybe if she had Kili stand near the entrance so he could run out at the first sign of trouble?

“Weren’t you the one just commenting on how we’re all adults?” Nori mused, breaking into her thoughts. Bilba looked at him in surprise and saw him giving her a knowing grin.

She really needed to work on her facial expressions, Bilba thought, that or Thorin, Fili and Nori were all able to read her thoughts.

A disturbing notion.

She gave Nori a weak grin. “I did say that.”

She was still touching his hand and he moved it, grabbing hers in reassurance. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right. Thorin will see it too.”

Bilba gave him a rueful smile. “If we survive.”

Nori shrugged and stood. “Try to be optimistic. Maybe the dragon will eat us all and he’ll never find out.”

Bilba gave a small laugh. “You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that? The last stop on the tour of things in Middle Earth that want to eat you.”

He grinned. “Last stop is always the best.” He turned and headed out. “I’ll make sure Kili sees you, alone.”

“Thank you,” Bilba whispered and then settled back to wait, a sense of relief washing over her. Nori was the first one she’d fully laid her plan out to and he supported her in it.

Now all she had to do was convince Kili.

And then Bard.

And then she’d have to figure out a way to get on the boat without freaking out and making herself sick all over again.

Bilba gave a low moan and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and dropping her head on them.

How had this become her life?

 

***

 

In the end, Kili took less convincing than she’d thought. She didn’t know what Nori said or did but Kili showed up in her room, alone, and, when he left, it was with all three of the Morgul arrows. He wasn’t happy about having to lie to Thorin either but agreed with her reasoning.

He was also confident he could hit the dragon if given the opportunity. Particularly since, as Bilba explained, there was no reason to worry about the reported toughness of the dragon’s scales or to even look for a weakness.

All he had to do was put an arrow in its eye.

A nice, big dragon sized eye.

He could do it, of that he had no doubt, and Bilba trusted him.

After that Bilba only had to convince Bard to help her.

And then figure out how to get off the Valar forsaken lake to the other shore.

Personally, she imagined Bard would be the easiest task.

 

***

 

"Thank you for coming," Bilba said politely to Bard. She tried not to shift in her chair as she spoke, not wanting to give the impression she was a wayward child before a responsible adult. When Thorin reported Bard had agreed to come, as Bilba had thought he would, she’d made the effort to look presentable and adult, in spite of how much smaller she was than the Human. She’d taken a bath and gotten dressed in her normal clothing again, ignoring the irritation over her trousers STILL being to tight in spite of her illness and lack of proper eating for several days. She felt almost back to normal, only a slight fatigue still plaguing her.

He nodded at her. "You're welcome. I had wanted to return, if only to apologize again for Tilda."

"No harm done," Bilba said. She gave him a rueful grin. "In truth, I feel I must apologize also."

"Indeed?" Bard said. "What for?"

"Well," Bilba continued, "I have to admit I questioned the sanity of anyone who would choose to live ON a lake. Now that I've met you, however, I can see my initial assessment was wrong."

Sort of wrong. In reality it made her even MORE confused that he would appear so rational and yet choose to live in such insanity.

Bard chuckled, leaning back in his own chair and resting a foot on his opposite leg. "To be honest, it wasn't my idea. My family is originally from Dale. We were forced to flee after the dragon came and, well, Lake-town is really all there is on this side of the world, particularly when you have no money for travel."

"Oh," Bilba reconsidered him, "I didn't realize there were any survivors of Dale."

Bard nodded. "There were many. My mother, in fact, was the wife of the Lord of Dale at the time, Girion. He fell in the attack but his wife and son, my great-grandfather, were able to escape and ended up settling here."

"Then that makes you the rightful ruler of Dale," Bilba said slowly, startled, but Bard shrugged.

"It is of little consequence," he muttered, "to be lord of something that no longer exists."

Bilba heard the trace of bitterness in his voice and a spark ignited within her. "It must be hard," she started, carefully, "to see the remnants of your people, your own children, live in such difficult circumstances compared to what I'm told life in Dale was like."

His eyes narrowed slightly, "it is but little can be done for it."

"What if something COULD be done?" Bilba suggested.

"Oakenshield already told me his plan," Bard's voice grew dark and hard edged, "and I informed him quite clearly what I thought of it."

"I'm sure you did," Bilba replied, "but what if it wasn't the only plan?"

That got his attention. He frowned at her. "What are you talking about?"

Bilba took a deep breath, twisting her hands where they lay in her lap, and then proceeded to outline her idea.

When she was done Bard simply stared at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted horns.

Not encouraging, Bilba thought.

She waited, fighting the urge to fidget.

Bard finally reached up and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. “And what if your plan also fails and the dragon awakens? What happens to Lake-town?”

“I don’t expect anything will,” Bilba said. “The dragon will have no reason to suspect you aided us and it’s never bothered you before, why should it now?”

He didn’t seem convinced so Bilba tried another tack.

“If you’re that worried you could always take your children to Mirkwood for a few days, just to be sure.”

Just to be paranoid but she didn’t mention that, especially since she was pretty sure that WAS what Thorin had said and the last thing she wanted to do was start channeling HIM.

“And what of the people left behind?”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if we’ve hidden our plans from them. They know we’re going into the mountain.”

Okay, they actually HAD hidden their plans, or she had at least. Hidden the fact that they had a BETTER plan, that is. The people of Lake-town were happy with what they THOUGHT the plan was, going in to try and find the Arkenstone.

She watched as Bard considered, trying to curb her growing impatience. It wasn’t as though he could STOP them. They were going in the mountain whether or not he helped them. It would just involve a lot less walking, possibly starving and getting eaten by orcs if he gave them a ride versus trying to sneak out and walk around the lake.

Of course if they DID try to sneak out it was highly likely the Master would find out and try to stop them which could well lead to them having to fight and could POSSIBLY lead to the Master getting hurt.

Dwalin would be saddened if they didn’t get to go that route. He’d been sharpening his axes for DAYS in anticipation.

Thorin would be upset as well even though Balin had patiently explained multiple times that one did not start their new reign as King under the Mountain by assassinating one’s potential allies.

Balin tended to be rather stuffy in that area.

“I’ll tell you what,” Bilba said, breaking into whatever doomsday scenario Bard was probably concocting in his head. Her mind went over the beginnings of their conversation, her idea gaining strength. "What if I promised to pay you for your services?”

“Oakenshield already offered payment,” Bard said, a slight edge to his voice. “It did not persuade me.”

“Did it not?” Bilba answered innocently. “Did he offer you enough to rebuild Dale?”

Bard blinked, startled, and Bilba knew she’d finally managed to peak his interest. She already knew he had no love for the Master and had heard the longing and bitterness in his voice when he spoke of Dale. Now that she knew he was the rightful HEIR to Dale, well, it just gave him that much more to gain if things went well.

“I’ve been promised a share of the treasure,” Bilba said, “and I would gladly turn it over to you in return for safe passage.”

Bard’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Bilba shrugged. “I’m a Hobbit. We have little love or need for treasure. What would I do with it?”

Amusement suddenly shone in Bard’s eyes. “Not to mention you already hold the heart of the King. I’m sure he would have no problem replacing your treasure if you asked.”

Bilba smiled. “Or maybe his heart is a greater treasure than anything I could possibly find in the mountain and the possession of it leaves me little desire or want for anything else.”

She flushed in embarrassment over her words but Bard’s eyes were softening.

“I once had a treasure like that,” he said softly, “but I lost her, many years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilba said her voice sincere. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. It’s a pain you don’t overcome.”

“You just learn to live with it,” Bard agreed. He frowned and stared down at his hands where they lay clasped in his lap. “There is little I can do to stop you,” he said finally, “and though I am not sure that you will succeed, or that your failure will not turn the dragon’s ire on Lake-town, I will take you to the other side of the lake. He looked up and his eyes were dark. “I just hope I do not come to regret it.”

Bilba let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, relief assailing her. She reached out to clasp the Man’s hands, allowing her gratitude to shine through.

“Thank you.”

She kept to herself the thought that she also hoped he didn’t come to regret his decision.

 

***

 

They were finally ready to leave.

Bilba was nearly beside herself with both excitement and dread. Excitement at finally getting off the stupid, cursed lake and dread at having to take a boat to do it.

Bard had said they would leave once it got dark and had left to make preparations. Afterward Thorin had come back in, wanting to know what in the world she had said to make the “stubborn, paranoid human” agree to help them. Bilba had refused to tell him, choosing instead to distract him with a rather lengthy kissing session. That had ended when Kili, walking by the open door, had called out “not old enough to see that!” as he’d passed.

Bilba had ended up snuggled against Thorin’s side, listening to the Company getting ready downstairs, waiting for Bard to return.

He did finally and Thorin left to go speak to him.

He’d only been gone a few minutes when Bilba heard a slight patter of footsteps on the stairs and Tilda appeared in the doorway, something in her hands.

“Tilda,” Bilba said in surprise, “shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The little girl responded by stepping forward and holding up whatever she carried. “Da said you were afraid of the water so I brought this for you to borrow. You can wear it in the boat.”

Bilba took the object from her, frowning at it. “What is it?”

It appeared to be a series of…globes of some kind, filled with air and linked together inside a mesh made from fishnet.

Tilda held one of the globes up. “These are pig bladders,” she explained. “Da cured them.” She reached and swung a row of them around Bilba’s waist, hooking them together snugly in front. Two more, smaller rows went around Bilba’s arms until she was liberally decorated in inflated pig bladders.

She gave Tilda a look of confusion.

The girl grinned. “I used them when I was learning to swim and before that. They float, if you fall in they’ll keep you on the surface and someone can just pull you out.”

Bilba stared at her. “Truly?”

Tilda nodded. “Yep. I used to play in the water all the time with them on.”

Bilba had no doubt she looked ridiculous but it didn’t stop her from throwing her arms around the little girl as best she could, hugging her. “Thank you Tilda.” She set back again, grinning at the little girl. “I’ll be sure to take care of them.”

Tilda nodded, looking pleased with herself.

Footsteps sounded on the floorboards and Thorin strode into the room, coming up short at the sight of her.

Before he could say anything Bilba spoke up. “Not a word and I promise to stop bringing up the little incident with Azog.”

Thorin only hesitated a second before he nodded. “Deal.” He held a hand out. “Shall we, my Lady?”

Bilba grinned at Tilda who giggled, apparently having decided at some point that Thorin wasn’t evil after all.

“We shall, my Lord,” Bilba said grandly, reaching out to grab his hand. He pulled her out of the bed and, together, they strolled from the room.

And if anyone else thought her new accessories looked…odd, well, they knew better than to say anything.

Though she was mildly concerned Kili was going to hurt himself trying to hold back his laughter.

 

***

 

In the end she survived getting across the lake.

It wasn’t fun by any stretch, but the pig bladders did a great deal to calm her fears of falling in and drowning. Thorin carried her from the house so she was able to shut her eyes and never had to see the water mere inches away on the walkways. Once they got on the boat he settled her in the middle, as far from the sides as she could get.

The trip back to land was uneventful. Bard seemed lost in thought and content to focus on sailing through the mist and ice rising off the lake surface. The temperature was bitterly cold and Bilba stole Thorin’s Coat of Majesty and wrapped it around herself like a blanket. When that didn’t help she dragged the King under the Mountain down and used HIM as a blanket, huddling on his lap and curling against his chest. He didn’t complain, holding her easily as the boat cut soundlessly through the water.

When the boat finally slid to a stop Bilba turned to Thorin with chattering teeth and said, “Off, right now.”

Thorin responded by sliding his arms around her and standing straight up with her as though it wasn’t even a struggle.

Bard extended the ramp and Thorin stepped over the side of the boat and walked down it, strode along a short ramp and then his boots were crunching in what could only be the dirt and gravel of the beach.

Bilba bit back a shriek of delight, scrambled out of his arms, and flung herself headlong into the dirt. Dirt and rock bit into her body but she didn’t care, groaning in happiness at the feel. She dug her hands into it and turned her face to the side allowing her body to go limp.

Thorin chuckled and turned to aid the others in disembarking and gathering up the supplies Bard had managed to find for them.

No one asked her to help which was good as she had no intentions of doing so. She and the earth had been apart for far too long and she needed a few minutes for the reunion.

Finally Thorin approached again and knelt beside her. “Come on,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist, just above the pig bladders. “Bard wants his, whatever this thing is, back.”

He tugged her up and Bilba clenched her fists, bringing up handfuls of dirt with her. She ended up kneeling along with Thorin and held herself patiently still as he removed the pig bladders from her, fighting back a snicker the entire time.

Once they were off he carried them back to Bard who still waited on the boat. Thorin returned them while Fili handed Bilba her sword and knife, which she promptly strapped back on and slid into its sheath at the small of her back.

Bilba waved at him, his figure a bare silhouette in the light of the moon overhead.

“Please tell Tilda they worked wonderfully and thank you again.”

“I will,” Bard said. “I will pray you have luck on your journey and that we meet again.”

He didn’t say meet again soon, Bilba noted, just that they would meet again period. She wondered if he would end up taking his children to Mirkwood in the end but didn’t ask. She was grateful he’d agreed to help them, even more so that he hadn’t told Thorin of her true intentions.

The rest of the Company gathered and watched as Bard left. Once he was lost back in the darkness Bilba turned and reached up to grab Thorin’s braids, tugging his face down to hers.

“NEVER AGAIN,” she said clearly, “EVER.”

He kissed her lightly on the forehead and drew back up. “You have my word.”

“Good.” Bilba shuddered. Now that she was back on solid ground, where she belonged, she had no idea how she’d managed to make it so long on that cursed lake.

She knew though that it was the absolute last time it would ever happen.

She was a Hobbit, by the Valar, and belonged on SOLID ground.

Humans were clearly insane, with the possible exception of Bard.

Someone handed over her pack and Bilba slid it on her shoulders. She shot a glance at Kili and saw him return it, a somber look on his face. His quiver of arrows was slung over his back and, if she looked closely, Bilba could see three that were a different color than the rest.

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat and straightened, her eyes straining to see through the murkiness ahead of her.

It was time to embark on the last stage of the journey.

Here’s to hoping it wasn’t literally HER last stage.

 

***

 

The sight of Erebor dominating the landscape as the sun rose had Thorin frozen in shock and awe. The rest of the dwarves seemed in much the same state, either remembering when they’d once lived there or contemplating their first true, up close and personal sight of something they’d only heard talked of to that point.

Finally it was Bilba who marched forward, grabbed Thorin’s hand and pulled on him. “If you ever want to see INSIDE the mountain again we should get going,” she groused at him, tugging on his hand with all her strength and ignoring the fact he didn’t move so much as an inch.

Thorin’s eye lost their dazed look, sharpened and focused on her. “You’re right,” he said. “We need to move. Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

They set off at a brisk pace after that as though Thorin would run all the way to the mountain if he could. Bilba, unable to keep up with his longer strides, soon found herself near the back.

Kili and Fili joined her, neither one speaking, simply keeping her company as they moved.

The days seemed to pass in a blur as they marched to the mountain.

Bilba barely saw Thorin but didn’t fault him for it. In many ways he’d spent nearly his entire life on this quest and now finally neared the end of it.

She wasn’t much in a talking mood as it was. Every day they would inch closer to the mountain and every day Bilba would find her trepidation, and her doubts, growing. There were so many ways it could all go wrong and only one way in which it could go right.

She imagined the others felt much the same way as there was little talk or cheer as they moved and it lessened steadily the farther they went.

Due to this it was a quiet group indeed that crested a hill to find the desolation of Smaug laid out before them.

Bilba stared at the devastation before her. Broken columns and collapsed homes, rubble strewn for miles and the ground scorched to little more than ash and dust. It was hard to imagine what it must have been like on the day itself though she thought, if she listened closely, she could still hear the screams of the lost scattered on the wind.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Fili and Kili stood on either side of her, their eyes wide as they studied the destruction.

“The stories did not do it justice,” Kili whispered. On her other side, Fili shook his head. “No little brother,” he agreed, “they did not.”

Thorin stood a few feet away, his eyes dark. One hand was clenched in a fist at his side, the knuckles white and Bilba wondered what exactly he saw when he looked at the devastation. She hesitated and then stepped around Fili, moving a few feet to stand next to Thorin. She reached out and wrapped both her hands around his clenched fist, lightly massaging the back of his palm.

He started and looked at her, his face relaxing. He gave her an affectionate smile and then addressed the rest of the Company. “Let’s go.”

As they turned to start making their way down, Bilba cast one final look over the area of destruction. Her eyes traveled to the gates of Erebor and she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran up her spine.

She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d seen this place before.

 

***

 

Bilba found the staircase, hidden in the decoration of a statue of Thorin’s ancestors. Thorin led the way up, pulling Bilba with him, her hand clasped in his. The rest came along behind, their faces partly excited and grim.

It had taken longer to get to the mountain than they’d expected, even longer still to find the staircase.

As they headed up they were using the last few hours of daylight of Durin’s Day itself. Thorin had grown quieter and quieter the closer they’d gotten to the day, until he’d woken up utterly silent that morning and hadn’t spoken since.

He still didn’t speak until after they’d reached the top and stepped onto a small ledge of rock jutting from the side of the mountain.

Again Bilba felt the strongest sense of familiarity, as though she’d been there, standing on that very ledge before even though she knew it wasn’t possible.

Bilba watched as Thorin faced the Company, looking more excited than she’d ever seen him. She watched him smile as he spoke, finally, to them all, marking this day as one all other dwarves would come to know as the day the Company of Thorin Oakenshield took back their mountain.

She watched him set the others to work finding the keyhole.

And then she watched his smile begin to fade, along with the light, as they couldn’t locate it.

The sun set.

The door remained shut.

It happened so quick.

A quest that had taken the better part of seven months, had seen them through trolls, goblins, orcs and more.

It couldn't be decided that quick.

It just couldn't be.

Bilba stood frozen, her mind struggling to comprehend what happened.

The rest of the Company was equally still, all eyes turned toward Thorin. He stood just in front of the rock wall, grasping the map in his hands, unmoving.

Bilba couldn’t bring herself to move, irrationally convinced she could pause time if she just stood still.

Thorin’s voice spoke out of the dark, asking Balin what they had done wrong. He sounded like a child, his tone cutting at Bilba’s heart.

Boots scraped against rock and she realized the others were beginning to leave, their steps slow and sluggish.

No.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could make out the silhouette of Thorin as he turned to leave. A soft clunk sounded and she realized he’d dropped the key, letting it slip from his hand as though it meant nothing.

No.

She couldn’t let it end this way. Not after they'd come so far.

Bilba stepped in front of Thorin, her hands on his chest.

“Wait.”

“Get out of the way, Bilba.” Thorin’s voice was flat, empty. He tried to step forward only to come up short as Bilba set her feet and pushed her hands against his chest. She was under no illusion she could stop him if he wanted to move but was banking on the belief he wouldn’t risk hurting her.

“Bilba--”

“Just WAIT,” Bilba insisted. “Thorin. Please.”

He sighed and lifted a hand to slide through her hair at the back of her head. “What would you have me wait for?”

“I don’t know,” Bilba said helplessly, “but what does it hurt? Please? Just wait.”

He didn’t move his hand but, instead, lowered his head until he could press his lips to the top of her head. She moved her hands to the edges of his coat and lowered her head slightly, looking toward the ground.

They stayed like that. Bilba wasn’t sure how long. She was vaguely aware the rest of the Company had stopped near the edge of the staircase and were waiting quietly for them.

If they really had failed then, truly, there was no rush.

Time passed.

Eventually the area began to grow lighter, not from the sun rising but from the moon. It was a full, harvest moon, fat and bloated, throwing off so much silver light the entire ledge was thrown into sharp relief.

Kili was the one to spot it.

Bibla heard the quick intake of breath and then, “Uncle. Uncle, look!”

Thorin lifted his head to look toward the wall and Bilba turned to look with him.

Silver light spread over the ledge, spilling into cracks and crevices, pooling in gaps in the rock. Several areas glowed more brightly than others, forming the very clear outline of a door.

And, in the very center, what could only be a keyhole.

Thorin let out a laugh that was almost a cry.

“The last light of Durin’s Day,” Bilba whispered. “The last light, moonlight, not the sun at all.”

Thorin released her and bent to retrieve the key. He stood and turned to look at her, a grin breaking out over his face and spreading all the way into his eyes.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward to the door. Bilba watched as he slid the key in, his hand shaking slightly, and turned it.

A low rumble sounded.

Thorin wasn’t moving.

Bilba went to stand next to him and placed a hand on his arm, feeling the tautness under her hand.

Thorin released the key and placed both hands flat against the door. He took a deep breath, tensed and then pushed.

The door opened.

Bilba held back as Thorin stepped inside, his hands trailing along the rock. Balin followed behind him along with most of the rest of the Company.

Bilba stayed near the entrance, watching. A soft light permeated the hall, seeming to brighten the longer the dwarves stood in it.

The Blessing of Mahal, Bilba thought. Every kingdom belonging to the dwarves was lit, somehow, by a light that seemed to have no natural source. Even after the dwarves left the light remained, dimmed, but still present. Once the dwarves returned, if they did, the light would brighten as though reacting in joy to their presence.

A miracle. One so common most forgot, after a while, that it WAS a miracle.

Thorin had come back out, his eyes lighting on her. He wrapped both arms around her waist, lifted her straight up and kissed her before gently setting her back down again. “So,” he said, “what do you think of my Kingdom, my Lady?”

“It’s beautiful,” Bilba said, “though I imagine it will be even more so once the sun has come up.”

He nodded absently. “It is late,” he said, his voice distant. She could tell he wanted nothing more than to charge in right then and was physically restraining  himself. “We’ll camp here tonight and decide our next course of action in the morning.”

“All right,” Bilba agreed. Her eyes flickered toward Kili and he gave a minute nod.

They settled down quickly after that, too excited to eat and unwilling to risk discovery by lighting a fire.

Bilba lay down near Thorin but not actually touching him. She shut her eyes but did not sleep, listening instead to the others as they slowly settled.

It took a LONG time. So long, in fact, she was afraid they would miss their chance all together.

Finally, however, the camp seemed silent, everyone somehow managing to fall asleep in spite of their excitement.

Bilba opened her eyes and found Kili already up, standing next to the doorway. A few feet away Nori leaned against the rock, on watch. He hadn’t been first on watch, Bilba remembered, and she saw the moon was already well on its way down, the sky beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn.

She got to her feet, moving as silently as possible and joined Kili at the door to the mountain. She looked to Nori and saw him simply staring back at her, his face blank. Slowly he lifted a hand and proceeded to give the two of them a complicated gesture she’d never seen before.

Beside her, Kili watched and then carefully placed his arm across his chest and bowed low. Bilba copied him and then turned to face the opening.

Kili stood next to her.

Bilba felt someone heavy settle on her, a sadness almost that was not her own.

She took a deep breath.

And then, together, she and Kili stepped through the doorway into the mountain.

 


	41. Chapter 41

The tunnel was narrow and, as neither Bilba nor Kili was much inclined to go first with the other following behind, they ended up walking nearly shoulder to shoulder.

They got all of fifty or so feet in before the second guessing and self-doubt set in.

What had she been thinking after all, Bilba thought? She wasn’t a warrior or a strategist. She was a hobbit for Valar’s sake. She’d only been gone from the Shire once before and look how THAT had gone.

She felt cold, much colder than the air in the tunnel would warrant, and she was aware her eyes were wide open as if she was going to miss something important. She had one hand clasped around Thorin’s ring at her throat, twisting and turning it anxiously.

Kili walked next to her in silence and guilt burned through her again. Fili and Thorin were going to kill her for dragging him into this. The youngest member of the Company, aside from her, though she was older than him maturity wise.

Was he even considered mature by dwarven standards? He had to be, right? Thorin wouldn’t have taken a child on the quest.

He took you, her mind mutinously supplied, but she brushed it off. She was mature by the standards of any culture and, in her own, was close enough it was little more than a formality. Why, just a few months before she left she’d attended the wedding of Primula and Drogo and they were both younger than she was. Then of course there was Lily Bracegirdle. She was happily married and had two children already and was also a few years younger than Bilba. Hobbits her age, though technically still in their Tweens, were so close to the end of them that they were considered, and treated, as adults in most things. Which, now that she thought about it, meant her grandfather should have turned over her money to her years ago. Before she’d left she had simply accepted him holding onto it as a sign of him being overprotective. Now, however, looking at the few times he’d ever visited, and judging the harshness of the note he’d sent her in Rivendell, she was beginning to wonder if controlling her money hadn’t been his way of controlling her, something he’d never been able to do with her mother. Quite, honestly, she was beginning to wonder about a lot of things, not the least of which was why she'd never wondered, or questioned, anything before.

Bilba frowned, she’d gone off on a tangent, why was she thinking about such things again? Oh, right, age. Kili was an adult by the standards of any other culture too, she conceded, and capable of making his own choices. Right?

"I broke one of your dishes and buried it in your yard when you were asleep," Kili said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Bilba twitched in surprise. After the total silence the sudden noise sounded unnaturally loud. She frowned, turning the words around in her mind and trying, unsuccessfully, to fit them into some sort of context. Finally, failing that, she simply asked, “What?”

Kili shrugged awkwardly, a rueful grin on his lips. "I was just thinking…if this all goes wrong and we…you know--”

“Die horribly?” Bilba said dryly.

He gave her a tight smile. “Yeah. Anyway, I just thought, might as well get it off my chest.”

As he spoke, Bilba looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since they’d entered the tunnel. He had an almost white knuckle grip on his bow and his shoulders were rigid.

She'd put a lot of pressure on him. If he missed his shot they would all die and he'd probably watch, at least in her case.

"I think of you and Fili as the Pretty Twins."

He blinked, his turn to be confused. "What?"

Bilba nodded sagely. "When I saw you two, and then Thorin, it made me think you must have an unnaturally pretty bloodline. I tried to imagine what a family reunion would be like. Girls would probably plan holidays around when you were all expected to come to town."

Kili snorted, the corners of his lips twitching, and ducked his head, his face coloring slightly in embarrassment. "When I was small, my mother used to dress me as a girl."

"She didn't," Bilba whispered. “Really?"

Kili nodded, smiling in remembrance. "She really wanted a daughter. No one believed I was male until I was almost fifteen years old."

"How did they find out?"

"Uncle Thorin held a big banquet for something or another and I stripped down and streaked through it." He grinned in pride. "I was confined to my room for a month but at least no one called me a girl ever again."

Bilba laughed, fighting to keep it quiet. The last thing they wanted to do was alert the dragon before they ever arrived. Under her feet she could feel the floor dipping, leading them lower. The air had grown colder as well and the only sound was the occasional drip of water into some unseen pool.

"I once pushed a boy off the roof of Bag End and he broke his leg," she supplied. "He was convinced he could fly and had tied bed sheets to his arms and legs. I was giving him a helping hand."

Kili's smile widened, his teeth white in the dim light of the tunnel. "Well, that's his fault I should think." He gave her a conspiratorial wink, "I once dumped a bucket of water on Fili just as a girl he fancied walked by. She thought he'd had an 'accident'".

"Oh, that's awful," Bilba breathed, even as her sides hurt from laughing. "Poor Fili."

"He got me back," Kili said with a shrug, his tone affectionate. "He stole some of the dye Mom was using to color a dress she'd made and turned my hair an interesting shade of green, right before I was planning to offer a courtship bead to someone." He sighed theatrically. "As can be expected I was stubborn enough to try and go ahead with it anyway. It didn't go well."

"I once tried to spy on someone I had a crush on but ended up looking through his parent's window instead." Bilba shuddered. "They were both in there."

"I can beat you on that," Kili mused. "I once walked in on my parents."

"OH!" Bilba exclaimed in horror, "you poor thing! I think I would have been traumatized for life."

Kili nodded, turning his gaze to the floor and heaving a great sigh. "I doubt I shall ever overcome that particular shock."

They lapsed back into silence after that. Ahead, Bilba noticed the tunnel beginning to look lighter. She felt her anxiety rising once more, slowing her steps. Beside her, Kili’s face began to look drawn again, his features tight.

He stopped suddenly in the middle of the tunnel, his eyes fixed on the floor. “What if I screw up?”

“You won’t,” Bilba reassured, lamely. “I have faith in you.”

“It may be misplaced,” Kili whispered. She could see him struggling to draw in enough air and had a sudden worry that he was on the edge of a full blown anxiety attack. “I’m not the fighter Fili is,” Kili despaired, “or the leader Uncle is.”

“I’ve seen you in battle,” Bilba insisted, her own nerves ramping up as Kili started to panic. “You saved your uncle’s life when that warg nearly attacked and you fought with bravery and courage against the trolls.”

“Bravery and courage,” Kili muttered, his eyes fixed ahead, “words always ascribed to Uncle and Fili. You know what words get assigned to me?” A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. “Reckless, naïve, too young, sheltered.” He turned his eyes to her, pleading, “What if I’m about to prove them all correct?”

She needed to distract him, Bilba thought desperately. He was working himself into such a state they’d never be able to face Smaug.

Kili had looked away from her again, his eyes locked on the area of the tunnel where it was lighter. The walls curved at that point, creating a corner that blocked their view of what lay beyond but they both knew. His hand was so tight on his bow she could actually hear the wood creaking as he gripped it. His entire body was taut, like a bowstring ready to snap, and Bilba knew if she didn’t do something RIGHT THEN all would be lost.

“I slept with Thorin.” She blurted out, and then instantly gasped and slapped both hands over her mouth. That was NOT WHAT SHE HAD MEANT TO SAY. She’d wanted to distract him, shock him off the dark path he’d been treading in his mind but not by saying THAT.

Eru, what had she been thinking?

A tiny glimmer of hope sparked in her mind. Maybe Kili hadn't heard her. Maybe he’d been so caught up in his own thoughts he’d missed what she’d said and she could figure out something else to say. She risked a look and saw Kili staring at her, his eyes wide and his mouth actually gaping a few inches.

He had definitely heard.

"You," he said, finally, "and.......WHEN? In Lake-town?"

"Of course not!" Bilba scoffed, wondering where he’d gotten THAT idea. "I was sick and there wasn't exactly a lot of privacy!" She waved a hand vaguely, "It was in the tunnels. Not THESE tunnels obviously, because that would be weird and kind of impossible, but you know that of course,” she trailed off, before flapping her hand again, randomly. “You know, back when we were all separated." When Kili simply gave her an incredulous look she huffed and continued, "We weren't exactly thinking clearly all right? We thought everyone was dead and Thorin thought he was going to be exiled and then I said he could stay with me at Bag End and he started talking about....stuff.....and I started.....you know......talking and then....." her face went red hot and she waved her other hand as if Kili could interpret what she was saying somehow from their gestures. "Then we....started kissing and......and......it just got a little out of hand, all right?"

"A little out of hand," Kili repeated dumbly. He swore suddenly and Bilba flinched, her eyes going wide. Surely he wasn't UPSET, was he? Was there a dwarf taboo they’d broken?

Kili turned on her, "Do you have any idea what this means?" he asked, his voice aggrieved.

"No?" Bilba offered, slowly. "What does it mean?"

"It means," Kili sighed and dropped his head, his voice taking on a note of despair, "I have to sharpen all of Fili's weapons for the next two MONTHS. ALL. OF. THEM. Do you have ANY idea how many he has? And he's so PICKY about them. I'll sharpen them all and then he'll say I didn't do it well enough and make me do it all over again!"

Bilba stared at him, her own mouth gaping slightly as her mind worked through his words. "Are you....are you saying you BET on whether or not I'd slept with Thorin?"

"Of course we did!" Kili muttered, sounding quite put out. "Fili and Nori were convinced you had, though they wouldn’t tell me why. I just thought they were both idiots."

"Fili," Bilba whispered in horror, "AND Nori?"

Kili nodded, still clearly annoyed though, Bilba noted vaguely, he no longer seemed on the edge of a full blown panic attack. "I'll have to help him cheat at cards the next four times we go to a tavern."

“You, Fili and Nori,” Bilba repeated, “you were all betting on whether or not Thorin and I had slept together. Anyone else I should know about?”

He shrugged. "Just us."

"Just you," Bilba parroted. She turned and took a stop forward, toward the curve in the hall. 

"Though I’d imagine Dwalin probably knows," Kili said from behind her. "He and Uncle have been best friends since forever so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s guessed. Maybe Dori and Ori because Nori might have told them. It’s possible Gloin and Bombur might know just because they’re married and maybe there are signs or something they’d recognize. OH, and Balin, he was married too and he’s Dwalin’s brother so he may have known that way. And then Oin is Gloin’s brother and they talk and Bombur is Bofur’s brother and Bifur’s cousin so…."

Bilba put her hands over her ears as he continued to talk and tried desperately to block him out.

She'd changed her mind. The dragon eating her had just become the BEST option. It was the only thing that could possibly save her from the humiliation of facing the rest of the Company later.

 

***

As it turned out the end of the tunnel was a bit farther than around the next corner. By the time they reached the actual end Kili had, thankfully, shut up about anything Bilba may or may not have said, though he still looked rather put out over having lost his precious bet. At least he was walking easier, however, and no longer had a death grip on his bow.

Without warning his hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her down to a crouch next to him. Bilba obeyed, sending him a questioning look. He held a finger up to his lips, his face serious, and nodded around the corner they’d just come up to. Bilba leaned forward, nearly on her stomach, and peered around it. The tunnel continued on for another twenty or so feet before exiting into, from what she could see from her position, was a massive room. A massive room filled with gold as far as the eye could see and she could only see a little from that vantage point.

“Kili,” she hissed, as low as she could, “does Thorin know how much gold is in the treasury?”

He nodded. “He lived here,” he replied in an equally quiet voice, “he knew. Even if he hadn’t, it’s pretty legendary.”

Bilba nodded. “How exactly did he expect anyone to find the Arkenstone then?”

Kili shook his head, his own eyes wide as he took in the sheer amount of gold they could see just from that small area.

Bilba sighed and pushed to her feet, trying to ignore how badly her legs were shaking.

“Won’t he smell me?” Kili said suddenly. “When I sneak in?”

“I don’t know,” Bilba answered honestly. “I think he’ll smell dwarf on me, certainly.”

Kili raised an eyebrow and Bilba felt her entire face burn. “From spending so much time around you all!” she whispered furiously. “That’s what I meant and you know it!”

He smiled, just slightly. “If you say so.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “ANYWAY, he’ll smell that, not to mention Erebor is a dwarven kingdom, with or without dwarves, so I’m sure the smell of them must linger even now.”

As she spoke an idea niggled at the back of her mind. She frowned, turning it over and over in her head before finally coming to a decision. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring she’d taken from the tunnels back under the goblin town.

“Kili,” she said slowly, “you’re the smallest one in the Company next to me, aren’t you?”

His eyes narrowed, annoyed, but he nodded. “Yes.”

Bilba nodded. Kili wasn’t the smallest height wise, he had an inch or two on his brother, but he was the smallest in terms of his frame. And if that were the case…she held the ring out to him, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach at giving it to anyone. “Here, try this on your smallest finger and see if it fits.”

Kili reached out for the ring and, for a moment, Bilba tightened her grip. The ring was hers after all, why should she hand it over to anyone?

The feeling passed almost as quickly and she mentally scolded herself over her own foolishness. She let go, biting back an almost irrational flash of jealousy at the sight of the ring in Kili’s hands.

He studied it, frowning. “I don’t think it’ll fit.”

“Just try,” Bilba insisted, irritated.

He frowned but obeyed her, sliding the ring on his finger. Immediately he vanished, leaving the corridor seemingly empty but for her. A second later he was back, holding the ring and studying it with a confused look. “That’s odd. I could have sworn it was too small to fit but it slid right on.”

“Okay,” Bilba whispered, “keep it on. You can sneak up on him easier and, even if he smells you, he won’t see you.”

His eyes narrowed. “What about you?”

“He’ll know where I am,” Bilba replied, “going invisible won’t change anything.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I,” Bilba said, “but it’s the only way. Come on; let’s get it over with.”

She turned her back on him and marched forward on legs that barely held her up, sheer force of will keeping her moving until she stood in the doorway leading into the treasury.

The doorway, despite being supposedly secret, opened onto a large landing at the top of a long flight of stairs that overlooked the entire treasury. The treasury literally stretched as far as she could see in every direction, the only breaks large pillars plunging down through a veritable ocean of gold.

Whoever had come up with the original plan must have never seen the treasury, or possibly been in their right mind.

She stepped forward carefully, shutting her eyes and squeezing her hands together in front of her chest. The air in the chamber was cold and the light was dim, casting strange shadows on the walls and preventing her from seeing everything as clearly as she would have wished. Every muscle in her body was screaming at her to turn tail and run as fast as possible and her breath was so short she felt lightheaded. She reached the edge of the landing, at the top of the first step and there she paused. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm the roiling of her stomach and her erratic heartbeat.

“Smaug.” Her voice came out a bare whisper and she swallowed, her throat and mouth dry as dust. She tried again but her voice cracked and she took a few moments to try and ground herself. She heard nothing from Kili and hoped he’d already moved himself into a position.

He was counting on her not to mess up. She’d dragged him into it and he was doing his part, she needed to do hers.

She drew in a deep breath, clasped Thorin’s ring in both her hands, and screamed at the top of her voice, “SMAUG!”

Her voice echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the walls and pillars and repeating through the depths. When it finally faded away there was silence. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, stilled as though waiting.

Maybe Smaug was dead? Or gone somewhere? Maybe she could go back and tell Thorin and the others that no one was home?

A low rumbling started. In the distance, near a pillar, a mountain of gold began to shift, cascading down in a wave. The movement revealed something red and reptilian underneath and Bilba let loose an involuntary whimper of fear. A massive head rose into view, squared off with a blunted nose and enormous teeth. The body came next and seemed to keep coming, longer and longer until finally, finally, it tapered off into a tail that, alone, was probably enough to kill hundreds with just one swipe. An eye bigger than she was focused on her and then the entire nightmare was headed in her direction, giant, leathery wings unfurled and talons, longer than spears, drove through the coins, sending them scattering in his wake.

Bilba’s entire body froze, unable to move. She felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a hungry fox, or a mouse in the eyes of an eagle. Nothing she’d faced before compared to this, not the trolls, not the wargs or spiders, not even Azog the Defiler.

“Well,” Smaug’s voice rumbled, “it has been awhile since I have seen a thief in my domain.”

His voice, smooth and oddly hypnotic, was enough to stop her heart, the sound waking an almost primal instinct in her that screamed at her to run.

Bilba forced her mouth to work. “If I were a thief,” she gasped, “would I have announced myself?”

“Hmmmm,” he leaned forward and she nearly passed out as his breath, hotter than her oven at home, blew over her and stole the air from her lungs. “Perhaps not. What, then, pray tell are you?”

He kept moving as he spoke, twining this way and that and Bilba desperately wanted to tell him to knock it off so Kili could shoot him.

“An admirer,” she choked out, “one who has long read the tales of your kind and desired to see the truth for myself.” She swallowed again, an enormous rock seeming lodged in her throat. “Ancalagon, Scatha, Smaug, how can anyone read the stories and NOT want to see for themselves?”

Smaug shifted, again, and studied her. “And, which, might I ask, of those so named do you think to be the greatest?”

“You,” Bilba answered instantly, “for they are dead and you are not.”

Smaug nearly purred in response. “You speak pretty words, for a LIAR.”

Bilba shut her eyes a second, gasping as fear threatened to overtake her once more. “I speak the truth, Smaug, Greatest of Calamities. Surely there is no greater threat than you.”

Without warning the dragon lunged forward, surging over the steps and coming to rest mere inches from her. Bilba bit her tongue to keep from screaming, so hard she tasted blood.

“And yet you seek to beard me in my own den,” he growled. “Think you that I cannot smell the dwarves camped at the other end of the tunnel? That I cannot smell their reek on you? Or that I cannot smell the fear sweating from the one you brought with you?”

“Your nose deceives you,” Bilba gritted out, her hands clenched into fists. “Look around you, Smaug the Tyrannical, and tell me where this dwarf you claim I brought in is. Because I, for one, see no one but the two of us.”

Smaug growled, the sound causing her bones to vibrate and reared back, scanning the area around her. Bilba held still, struggling to resist the urge to turn and run. If she did she’d abandon Kili and she could never do that.

Smaug had paused and Bilba could swear there was a look of confusion on his face. No doubt he’d expected to find Kili instantly and now could not reconcile the fact that his nose told him there was a dwarf while his eyes provided him with none.

“What are you?” he hissed, turning back to her. “You travel with dwarves yet I have not smelled your like before. You carry the smell of others with you yet I see none here.”

Bilba felt herself still. To directly answer a dragon’s question was to risk falling under their spell but refusing to answer risked angering them.

“Come closer,” Bilba challenged, mentally praying to every one of the Valar and Eru that Kili had gotten into place, “and I will tell you what I am.”

Smaug studied her a moment and then leaned forward, his head sliding across the stone until it was, once again, inches from her.

Bilba leaned in, close enough she could have touched him had she so wanted. “I am she who is half of nothing,” she whispered, “she who walks alone yet with company. I am she who lost my family to death and yet saved them.”

She took a deep breath and dropped her voice lower, forcing the dragon to hold himself still for once, quieting his movements, in order to hear her.

“And I,” Bilba whispered, “am the bringer of your death.”

The lightest of breezes swished past her head, the barest flicker in the corner of her vision.

Kili didn’t hit him with just one arrow.

 

He hit him with all three.

 

The action was so fast Bilba barely saw the fletchings of the last one as it vanished into the dragon’s eye, though she did not miss the great gout of blood that spewed forth as the first two vanished into it.

Smaug shrieked, an unearthly sound that shook the very stones she stood on, and lunged back. His body crashed into a pillar and, with a sharp crack, it broke in two and crashed to the ground. Bilba stumbled as the impact reverberated, falling to her knees.

“BURN!” Smaug roared, his body flailing wildly, rolling about the gold in pain, “YOU SHALL BURN!!”

His chest began to glow, white hot, and it was about then that Bilba saw the flaw in her plan. She was standing mere feet from a dragon that had just been shot in the eye with Morgul arrows. A dragon that could breathe fire. If she tried to run up the tunnel again he could simply blow fire up it behind her and incinerate her.

He roared again, so loud pain crashed through her ears and she clapped her hands over them. His maw opened and a great fount of fire exploded straight up, the light searing her eyes even as the heat from it dried her skin and heated the air. Bilba stared at it, dumbfounded, knowing full well that plume would turn toward her any second.

She would die and she wouldn’t even know if her plan had worked.

The fire washed overhead and began to come down, a great wave overtaking everything in its path. For a second, just a second, Bilba felt the oddest sensation of déjà vu, as though she’d witnessed something like this before. An odd grief clogged her throat, she was about to lose something more than just her life, but she couldn’t say what.

Arms closed around her waist and wrenched her to the side, over the edge of the landing, just as the fire was about to reach her. They hit the floor of the treasury hard, Bilba landing on armor and sending shockwaves up her nerves, a belt buckle digging into her spine. She had no time to react as she was shoved off. Hands grabbed her in a bruising grip and dragged her toward a door a few feet away. They made it through just as the fire reached the floor behind them and, even then, did not stop.

Bilba felt a hand slide down to intertwine with hers and looked to see not Kili, but THORIN running along beside her.

“Kili”, she gasped, turning her head, “We have to go back!”

“Fili has him,” Thorin said, his voice tight. “They ran through another door.”

They reached the end of a long hall and rounded a corner, Thorin leading the way. Behind them the dragon was still shrieking and it occurred to Bilba his voice wasn’t getting quieter.

“He’s getting closer,” Thorin growled. “Move.”

She could only move so fast and already her lungs were burning and her legs staggering but she pressed on.

Thorin came to a stop suddenly in front of a section of blank wall. “What are you doing?” Bilba gasped out but he ignored her. His hands moved quickly and she heard him curse before, suddenly, he shouted in triumph and pushed against a portion of the wall.

As he did Bilba looked back the way they’d come. Smaug appeared, worming around the corner. One eye was ruined; blood and ichor dripping from it down his face. The other was intent on her, the look in it nearly insane with rage.

Bilba screamed, scrabbling at Thorin’s back only for him to grab her and force her inside an opening that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. As soon as they were inside he shoved the door closed behind them.

“That won’t work!” Bilba shouted. “He saw us!”

The door closed, plunging the tunnel in darkness. Thorin grabbed her and physically picked her up, throwing her over one shoulder.

 

Then he ran.

 

Bilba tangled her hands in his coat, nearly hyperventilating from fear. She kept her eyes fixed behind them, even though she could see nothing in the darkness. They rounded a corner just as the way behind them exploded. Light struck her eyes, flooding the tunnel behind them. Thorin set her down. He ran his hands against the wall again and Bilba could see they were shaking. The light from down the corridor changed suddenly, going from white to orange. Bilba heard a roaring sound. “We’re going to die,” she whimpered.

 “Not today,” Thorin growled. He shoved, opening a door in the wall a brief crack. Grabbing her arm he lifted her and threw her inside before lunging in and throwing himself against the door. For a brief second a wash of heat rolled over them, and then it was gone as the door slammed shut, plunging them once more into darkness.

Bilba could hear the sound of Thorin breathing raggedly, it matched her own.

The air was cooling, Bilba noted vaguely, there must be vents of some sort cut into the room to allow air to circulate.

Slowly her eyes began to adjust as the Blessing of Mahal responded to Thorin’s presence. A soft, white light started to rise up, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Eventually it grew bright enough that she could see Thorin clearly, sitting against the door, his head thrown back as he struggled to catch his breath.

The rest of the room was empty, simply a small chamber cut from rock.

“Secret passages,” Thorin said, guessing her thoughts. “The whole mountain is riddled with them.” His eyes narrowed. “Want to tell me what, in the name of Mahal, you were thinking?”

Bilba flinced at the anger in his voice.

Thorin pushed to his feet, advancing a foot or two toward where she stood in the center of the room. “Do you have ANY idea how RECKLESS you were?”

Bilba flinched again. “I do,” she whispered, “but I don’t see any other way it could have been done.”

“That’s because you couldn’t be bothered to ASK anyone,” Thorin shot back, “you took it upon yourself to make the decision for the entire Company!”

Bilba felt guilt rise up, she hadn't thought of that. By going after Smaug the way she had it’d forced them all to adjust to what SHE’D done without her having given them any warning at all.

“What happened to everyone else?” She asked.

“Kili was thrown off the landing when the dragon fell and Fili jumped after him,” Thorin stated flatly. “I saw them flee through a door so they are somewhere in Erebor. His eyes turned cold, “The rest were some distance behind me. The dragon turned his attention to us immediately so I imagine they were also able to make it inside, or at least back out of the mountain to safety. They're fortunate the dragon was so incensed he didn't stop to incinerate them inside the tunnel first.” His eyes narrowed. “You should have told me.”

“You would have said no,” Bilba argued, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Your plan wouldn’t work!”

“Do you think I didn’t know that?” Thorin all but roared. “Do you think I didn’t know how against us the odds were? The Treasury is enormous! I have not been gone so long I failed to remember that. The Arkenstone would not be found quickly.”

“Then what did you plan to do?” Bilba replied sharply, her own voice rising. “Have me go in on a mission you knew would fail?”

“I HAD NOT PLANNED TO HAVE YOU GO IN AT ALL!” Thorin shouted. “I had thought to simply scout if the dragon were truly dead as rumors had claimed. If he were the mountain would be ours and we would have all the time we needed to find the Arkenstone.”

“And if he were not?” Bilba asked, her voice tight.

“Then I would have seen it with my own eyes, “Thorin responded instantly. “I would carry the news back with my entire Company as witness and spread the word. Threats of anyone else coming upon the mountain would be waylaid and we would wait once more.”

“Wait for what?” Bilba snapped. “For the threat Gandalf and Glorfindel and Radagast are so worried about to reveal itself? For Smaug to leave his mountain and become a greater threat?”

“What are you talking about?” Thorin growled.

Bilba told him. She explained everything she’d said to Nori and to Kili after him, the words Gandalf had spoken to her, and Glorfindel and Radagast after him. The threat the dragon might pose if left unchecked, not just to Erebor but all of Middle Earth.

When she was finished Thorin stood before her, his face unreadable. “And did you not think,” he said finally, his voice flat and angry, “that, perhaps, had you laid all that out I might have agreed with you? Did it never occur to you that many of us in the Company have actually seen battle and might have experience to add to the areas where yours was lacking?”

“I was afraid you would say no,” Bilba insisted, her argument sounding lame even to her own ears. She focused on her feet. Thorin's words were beginning to reach her and a small voice in the back of her mind was starting to suspect he was right.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I allowed myself to be blinded." Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She’d been so convinced the only possible outcome was Thorin telling her no that she’d never considered how lacking in experience she was. She’d never thought that, by telling the others her fears and plan, she might have avoided the very situation they were in now. Neither she nor Kili had ever even been INSIDE Erebor. If Thorin hadn’t arrived and they’d tried to flee on their own they’d both have been caught just trying to figure out where to go. She'd managed to so thoroughly convince herself that the ONLY possible outcome was Thorin saying no she'd blinded herself to any possibility he might actually have agreed with her.

Thorin sighed. Footsteps sounded and the toes of his boots appeared in front of her feet. A moment later he slid a hand under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. “We are truly a matched set are we not?” He asked ruefully.

Bilba gave a hesitant smile. “I suppose. We both tend to act like reckless idiots on occasion.”

Thorin gave a slight smile of his own. “We certainly both tend to yell at the wrong people.”

“And rush headlong into situations without truly being prepared,” Bilba agreed. “It’s a wonder either of us have lived this long.”

“I think you can thank Dwalin for that on my part,” Thorin mused dryly. “Probably my sister as well.”

Bilba could thank Priscilla and Seth for her part and fully planned to thank them in person the next time she saw them.

If she had a chance to see them again that is.

“Do you have any idea,” Thorin whispered, “how I felt waking up to see you and Kili both gone?”

She had not. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t trust me,” Thorin said quietly. “You should have.”

“You’re right,” Bilba reached up and gripped the edges of his coat, tugging on them lightly. “You’re absolutely right, Thorin, and I am sorry.”

He smiled and a teasing look entered his eyes. “I’m sorry, what was that again? I was what?”

Bilba felt her own lips twitch, just slightly. A few more tears escaped and Thorin lifted his other hand so he was cupping her face, his thumbs idly wiping the tears off. “You’re right,” she sniffed, “but don’t get too used to it. I’m sure it’s bound to be a rare occurrence.”

He grinned and bent his head to kiss her. They stayed together a long time before he finally pulled away. “I’m sure you’re correct," he allowed with mock graciousness. He straightened and strode to another part of the room, quickly finding and opening another door. Once there he turned to face her again. “What do you say we figure out a way to get out of here and find the others?”

This time Bilba’s smile was more than just a twitch. She nodded. “I would like that, very much.”

He nodded and, a moment later, the two of them strode through the open doorway, side by side.


	42. Chapter 42

Thorin wasn’t sure if his heart rate would ever return to normal.

It had stuttered and gone completely out of control the second he’d awoken to find Bilba and his idiot nephew missing.

He didn’t have to ask where they were.

If Bilba got through this he was attaching bells to her so she’d never be able to sneak away from him again.

For Kili, he’d just inform Dis about her son’s recklessness.

If they both survived, his traitorous mind whispered. If they didn’t Dis would kill him.

He would let her.

His heart did not return to normal as, without a word, the Company geared up and headed into the tunnels.

It did not resume its old patterns as he stalked down the tunnels, his breath catching in his throat, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his side and his mind conjuring images of their charred/mutilated/torn apart/dead/dead/always dead bodies.

He’d never told her he loved her.

The thought nearly brought him to a stop in the middle of the corridor. As it was his footsteps staggered for a split second and he was nearly run over by Dwalin who simply grunted and propelled him forward, one hand resting for an instant between his shoulder blades.

Thorin spiraled back through his memories in desperation, searching. Had he truly never told her? He’d certainly SHOWN her, of that there was no doubt. He’d given her his family ring, put a courting braid and bead in her hair and made their position quite clear to the rest of the Company.

But, try as he might, he couldn’t recall ever actually stating the words.

Not once.

Cold settled in the very marrow of his bones and he increased his steps. His heart continued its staccato beat in his chest.

It didn’t improve when he heard the unmistakable sound of a dragon roaring in rage. By that time he’d broken into a run, barely aware, or even caring, if anyone followed.

He burst out of the door just as a vibration rocked the stone, nearly driving him to his knees. He caught a brief glimpse of Kili, holding something in one hand, vanishing over the edge of the ledge. Movement darted past and then Fili was diving after him.

Thorin turned his attention away from them, just in time to see Bilba fall and an ocean of fire bearing down on her.

He barely managed to save her in time and then it was running and hiding and trying desperately not to get slaughtered.

And, even then, his heart did not settle.

And while he wanted to hold her and tell her how afraid he’d been and speak the words he’d held back so long, he instead fell back into old habits and found himself yelling and she yelled back because that was who she was and part of why he loved her and STILL his heart showed no sign of recovering from the wound it had suffered upon waking and finding the two of them gone.

Fear of not knowing the fate of his One and his nephew.

Pain from knowing neither had trusted him.

He was not his grandfather or his father. He would not fall as they had. He would not put his own wants and needs ahead of those of his people.

Bilba and Kili should have trusted him.

Beside him, Bilba stumbled over a loose rock on the floor. She staggered forward and Thorin caught her around the waist, steadying her.

She cast him a slight smile of gratitude. “Thank you.”

He nodded.

“Where are we going?’

“I don’t know yet,” Thorin admitted, “right now, simply away from the dragon trying to kill us.” Erebor was an entire mountain after all. His nephews, and the rest of the Company, could be anywhere, as could the dragon. He honestly had no idea what to do or where to start. Should they try to make it back to the Treasury and out of the mountain? Down to the forges in the hopes the others might have gone there to try and regroup as far as possible from the dragon? To the heights in the hopes an exit might be unblocked?

“Okay.” She looked down, one hand tugging idly at his ring where she wore it at her throat. She tended to do that when she was worried or upset. “This is my fault,” she lamented.

Thorin frowned. He did believe she’d made a mistake but it had been made from a desire to help and, as far as they knew, it could well still work. Mahal, but he hoped it would work. If there was any justice in the world the creature was already dead from the arrows and was even then beginning to rot in some, hopefully far off, location in the mountain.

“At least you can no longer hold the situation with Azog against me,” he allowed finally, the corners of his lips just quirking.

Her brows furrowed as she processed what he said and he saw the tension in her shoulders relax minutely.

“Smaug wasn’t my boyfriend though,” she said finally.

Thorin shrugged. “Perhaps it was love at first sight.”

Bilba raised an eyebrow. “And I promptly tried to kill him?”

“It does seem to be a habit with us,” Thorin mused.

Bilba huffed. “We’re really bad at it though.”

“We are,” Thorin agreed.

Bilba gave a slight grin. “My crazy boyfriend could reduce your crazy boyfriend to a pile of ash.”

Thorin snorted. “I would probably thank him.”

“And then kill him?” Bilba quipped.

Thorin chuckled. Within his chest his heart appeared to be considering returning to normal but he doubt it would entirely until he saw his nephews and the rest of his Company safe and alive.

They’d been walking for some time and, deciding now was as good a time as any, Thorin paused and moved to the wall of the tunnel.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bilba asked from behind him, her tone nervous.

“No,” Thorin said, “but we can’t wander around in here forever.”

She swallowed, fear in her eyes, but nodded. One hand again went to the ring at his throat and Thorin felt a surge of love for her that she would put that level of trust in him.

Though he often felt woefully inadequate to it.

Regardless, they couldn’t stay in the tunnels forever, no matter how tempting, so, taking a deep breath and sending a silent prayer to Mahal, he pushed on the door hidden in the wall.

It rumbled open, revealing a silent and seemingly empty hallway beyond.

Thorin felt Bilba’s hand creep into his and gripped it tight in return. Then, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile; he pulled her out onto the walkway with him.

Erebor stretched before them, quiet and cold. Even with the presence of the rightful King under the Mountain, the Blessing of Mahal was still soft, shrouding the different levels in shadow. Thorin’s eyes traveled over the empty walkways and imagined them as they’d once been, full of light and sound.

The air around them felt thick and heavy, as though the mountain had paused in the midst of drawing a breath.

He could almost feel it waiting.

It wouldn’t have to wait much longer, he mentally promised, not if he had anything to do with it.

“Railings,” Bilba whispered beside him, “what do all the races have against railings?”

“They destroy the lines and shapes of the bridges,” Thorin replied, pitching his own tone low.

Bilba gave him a look that suggested he might just be an idiot. She tended to get that look a lot, generally when she was looking at him. “They keep people from dying,” she hissed.

Thorin rolled his eyes and didn’t reply, simply tugging her forward down the walkway.

They got all of fifty or so feet before the laughter started overhead.

Thorin froze, his breath stopping in his lungs. Beside him Bilba had done the same, her eyes wide.

Something moved in the darkness overhead and then Smaug was dropping down, landing on a nearby bridge. It cracked and Thorin cursed the foul thing for ruining more of his mountain even as he jerked backward, planning to run back to the door. The dragon reached an arm out and slammed it shut, the crash echoing through the large chamber.

“I had wondered,” the creature growled, “when you would come out. I certainly tracked you long enough.”

His hearing, Thorin thought, or his sense of smell. It didn’t matter which, the outcome was the same. A sense of resignation settled over him. Beside him, Bilba was shaking so hard it was a wonder she stayed standing. Her hand had a near death grip on his and he squeezed back, fighting to keep the shiver wracking his own body from becoming noticeable.

He remembered his conversation months ago with Bilba about the futility of the quest. She hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t already known but he’d still been convinced they had a chance.

Perhaps he’d been a little more like his grandfather and father than he’d wanted to admit.

The dragon crawled closer and, as he did, Thorin caught sight of the worm’s ruined eye, milky white with a black substance draining out of it. The area around the eye appeared drained of color, having gone from a brilliant reddish brown to a dull, almost corpse like color.

Then the dragon was looming over them and Thorin felt his body go rigid even as he forced himself to keep his eyes on the creature.

He was Thorin, called Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain and he’d be cursed if he didn’t look death in the eye as it came for him.

Bilba, understandably, had no such compunction and squeezed her eyes shut, hunching into herself as if it could save her, her grip on Thorin very nearly painful in spite of her much smaller stature.

As such she did not realize what was about to happen until Smaug’s arm reached out and ripped her from Thorin’s side.

She screamed and Thorin gave a roar of rage, drawing his sword and beginning to lunge forward.

He got all of a foot before talons the size of his leg wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side, and slammed him back against the wall. The hit was so hard it rattled his bones and caused his teeth to clack together. Pain bloomed in his head and he was fairly sure he blacked out for just an instant. He dimly heard Bilba scream his name but couldn't gather himself enough to answer.

He was released and fell forward, his legs buckling the second they hit the ground. His knees struck the rock hard enough to send shockwaves of pain radiating up them, a fact he was grateful for as it served to clear his mind just a little.

He looked up in time to see Smaug heading down a corridor, still holding a screaming Bilba in a tight grip. She shrieked his name as they disappeared, her voice thick with terror.

“Ghivashel,” Thorin whispered. He struggled to push himself up; reaching for the sword he’d dropped when he fell. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he went back to his knees, grimacing as black spots danced in his vision.

The dragon and his One vanished, Bilba’s screams fading out a moment later.

Thorin swore violently, his hands clenching into fists against the ground. Again he tried to get up and, this time, managed it though he was wobbly. Clenching his sword in one hand he began to stagger after them. A combination of rage and fear built in his chest. Pain built in his jaw as he ground his teeth and his hand on the hilt of his sword went nearly numb from the tight he had on it.

He’d nearly reached the corridor they’d gone down when a shout caught his attention. Thorin turned to see Fili, bruised and battered with a bloody gash matting the hair on his right temple, racing toward him. Thorin waited and his nephew soon caught up to him, sagging forward to rest his hands on his knees.

“Kili,” he gasped out, “the dragon took Kili.”

Thorin closed his eyes, Bilba’s screams still echoing through his mind.

He opened them again to see Fili standing straight, his eyes locked onto Thorin’s, pleading as though his Uncle had all the answers.

Thorin tightened his grip on his sword once more and his eyes hardened.

“He took Bilba as well.” He saw Fili’s eyes widen but didn’t give the other a chance to reply, instead presenting him with a smile that promised death. “What do you say we go get them back?”

Fili nodded and Thorin turned to stride down the corridor, hearing the steady footsteps of his nephew behind him.

They weren’t dead he told himself.

He still had to yell at Kili for being an idiot.

And he STILL had to tell Bilba he loved her.

And he’d be cursed if he allowed that blasted worm to kill them before he’d had a chance to do either.

 

 

 

 


	43. Chapter 43

Bilba watched Smaug.

He returned the favor. He was curled in a tight coil with his tail wrapped around his head and over his snout. His breathing looked to be somewhat labored, not that she was an expert on what _normal_ breathing was for a dragon, but not nearly enough to suggest he planned to drop dead any time soon.

It had gotten boring an hour ago but she couldn’t bring herself to look away for fear it would rapidly get un-boring. It was like standing on ice that had started cracking under her feet. As long as she stayed put she’d be fine, but the second she started to move she risked dying horribly.

Her stomach twisted and she put a hand on it, massaging lightly. The nausea plaguing her since Mirkwood had lessened but hadn’t subsided completely. It had been a long time since she’d had any of Oin’s herbs and her stomach was beginning to protest the loss.

She could feel the press of Kili beside her but he was just as mesmerized, his eyes fixed on the dragon. Bilba had been startled, and shamefully relieved, to see Kili when Smaug brought her back to the Treasury. The dragon had put him up on a collapsed pillar where he couldn’t get down. Bilba had been tossed unceremoniously on a pile of gold and Kili had hit the ground next to her an instant later.

After that the dragon proceeded to destroy a pillar in front of the Treasury door, solidly blocking it behind a mound of rubble.

A look in the other direction had revealed the not-as-secret-as-some-might-claim door had also been sealed off.

Meaning _they_ were sealed off.

Inside the Treasury.

With a dragon.

Who had promptly curled into a ball and proceeded to try and stare them to death.

Given the fear coursing through her and the way she couldn’t seem to stop shaking, he might just succeed.

She hadn’t had a chance to see the damage to his eye after Kili shot him but she had a clear view now. It was a yellowish, white color with the center a mess of black and red where the arrows had gone in. Dark green-black liquid seeped out almost continually and the flesh around it was puffed and swollen.

The skin around the eye had also drained of color. Smaug was a deep red brown but around the injury the color had leached out, turning a sickly, mottled, pale color.

A color, she noted, that was spreading.

Over the last two hours it had widened until over half his head had lost the bright luster of health and now held the dull pallor of illness.

“You don’t look so good.”

The words slipped out unbidden and Bilba felt Kili stiffen next to her. As she did her own mind informed her that, yes, her mouth had indeed shot off without her permission and it had done so before Kili had.

Meaning she was more of a reckless idiot than he was.

Clearly this was Thorin’s influence.

The dragon shifted languidly. “If I could I would claw these wretched arrows out and drive them into you one by one and let your companion listen to you die.”

Bilba’s mouth opened again. “Why don’t you then? I’ll rip them out for you if you want.”

“Bilba,” Kili hissed next to her. “Could you please not antagonize the dragon?”

Bilba rolled her eyes at him and lowered her own voice to a matching hiss. “I’m pretty sure we moved well past antagonizing him when we shot him in the eye!”

Smaug moved suddenly, coins jangling and clinking as he slid across them. “I wonder,” he mused, “if your sudden bravery comes from the misplaced notion that you’ve won?”

Without warning the monster lunged, far faster than Bilba would have thought possible for something of his size. She barely had a chance to scream before she found herself flat on her back, the beast looming over her. Kili shouted something but couldn’t get past the bulk of Smuag’s body, wrapped around and over Bilba.

“You travel with dwarves,” he hissed. “Did you really think I would not know why you have come?”

Bilba’s chest heaved as she struggled to draw in breath. Her body was frozen, limbs incapable of movement. “I was hired to kill you,” she gasped out, her mind working frantically. The thought of him realizing who Thorin, Fili and Kili were sent a barb of pure terror straight into her heart. As much as she didn’t want to be there, the last thing she wanted was for the dragon to decide to head back out after Thorin and Fili or anyone else in the Company. “The mission was unsanctioned by the dwarven leaders, put together by those desiring vengeance.” She took a deep breathing, her mind reaching. “The Company belongs to me,” she said desperately, “the fact it is comprised of dwarves is happenstance.”

Smaug leaned forward, so close she could feel him brushing against her stomach. A half strangled whimper escaped her lips, her body shaking so hard it was a wonder it didn’t vibrate apart entirely. “You,” the dragon hissed, “are a poor liar. The reek of Durin's line surrounds you. You would seek to supplant me and place his spawn upon the throne. You would take the treasure that is rightfully mine!”

The last was a near roar of rage, the sound threatening to burst her eardrums with how close it was. His jaws opened, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. Hot, fetid breath washed over her, blowing her hair back from her face, the bead braided into it slipped off her shoulder to land on the ground by her head.

Bilba screwed her eyes shut, her body tensing in anticipation of being ripped apart by his fangs. Blood pounded in her head, a rushing sound that nearly drowned out Kili’s panicked howls as he fought to get to her. Her stomach began to clench in an awful way and she knew if the dragon didn’t kill her soon she’d probably end up throwing up all over him.

Desperately Bilba tried to mentally say good-bye, to Thorin, Fili, Kili, the others, Priscilla…but the words wouldn’t come, her mind so locked up by fear all she could manage was an inane internal babble.

“You think you have won, don’t you?”

The words were so quiet she almost didn’t hear them through the roaring in her head.

The sensation of something nearly on top of her vanished and she risked opening her eyes to see Smaug sitting upright before her. Footsteps raced frantically across the gold and then Kili was standing in front of her, wild eyed, challenging the dragon on legs that barely held him.

Bilba gazed up at Smaug, keeping her eyes just below his. The discoloration had spread again, and appeared to be picking up speed. His entire head was now bleached of color and it was fast moving down his neck.

“Have we not?” she whispered. “Do you deny you’re dying?”

Something in the dragon seemed to shift and, for an instant, Bilba caught a glimpse of an ancient intelligence, of a mind that had lived through countless generations, fought battles and witnessed firsthand the history Bilba had only ever been able to read about in books.

“You have succeeded,” the dragon intoned, “but the grasp of it will lie forever just outside your reach for as I die so too will you.”

Bilba stilled, the suspicion that had been growing in her mind confirmed. “That’s why you trapped us in here? So we could die alongside you?”

“It seemed fitting,” Smaug answered. “You will die slowly, with all you wished for laid out before you.”

“It won’t matter,” Kili shouted, his voice trembling only slightly. “You’ll still be dead and Uncle will take the throne. The line of Durin will be restored in Erebor whether or not we live to see it!”

Bilba closed her eyes in despair. Of all the times for Kili to find his voice, she thought.

Smaug made a rumbling sound. “So you admit it finally. It is Durin’s spawn come to steal my gold from me after all.”

“It’s not your gold!” Kili snapped. “It belongs to the Dwarves!”

Smaug didn’t appear to be listening. His head was still turned toward Bilba and she could feel his gaze on her as if it were a physical presence.

“The dwarf you were with,” he said mildly, “he seemed quite taken with you. Tell me, was that Durin’s heir?” A clawed arm reached out, lightly trailing along Kili’s body for a brief second before withdrawing. “This one has the scent but his youth betrays him.”

“Why does it matter?” Bilba replied. As she spoke she reached up absently and wound a hand around Thorin’s ring, clasping it as though her life depended on it.

“I am trying to decide,” Smaug continued, “if I unblocked the door and called for him, do you think he would come? To save his spawn and his lover?”

Kili made a strangled sound. Bilba shut her eyes, one hand tangled in the fabric of her pants, the other still clutching the ring. She tried to swallow but her throat was dry. “He doesn't care for either of us," she lied, "his only goal is to regain Erebor. The rest of us are expendable in his eyes."

So please, please, please don’t call him in here, Bilba thought desperately. Please just leave him alone.

Thorin would come if Smaug called for him, of that she had no doubt. He would walk in and Smuag would either kill him outright or leave him to starve alongside them.

“Your lying does not improve the more you attempt it.” Smaug sounded amused. “But it matters not. I will not call for him. My revenge shall be greater than I had imagined. Durin’s kin and his lover and the ones she carries. By the time he makes his way in here all he will find are your rotting corpses defiling his precious gold. Let him have his throne and his gold, he will not spend a day in the company of either without seeing your deaths and knowing how powerless he was to stop them.”

Bilba stopped playing with the ring at her throat and her hand stilled upon her pant leg.

What did he say?

She lifted her head and found Kili had turned to look at her in horror, his face suddenly pale. Bilba frowned at him in confusion. “What?”

His eyes still on her, Kili addressed the dragon. “What are you talking about? What ones she carries?”

The dragon was silent. Several long minutes passed during which the Treasury might as well have been empty.

Suddenly Smaug’s face contorted; a horrible twisting of his muscles and skin. At the same time the most bizarre sound came out from his throat, deep and twisted, it reverberated through the chamber.

With a start, Bilba realized what it was.

The dragon was laughing.

He was back in her face again, shoving Kili aside as though he were a fly.

“Can it be,” the monster breathed his voice triumphant, “that you do not know?”

“Know what?” Bilba demanded.

He laughed again, throwing his head back and nearly roaring. The sound echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the wall until she was surrounded by it on all sides.

Smaug twisted, moving several feet away and coiling around one of the few pillars he hadn’t broken yet. “Tell me, young one, how do you think I tracked you and your little dwarf lover through the stone?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Bilba said. As she spoke she carefully got to her feet and moved to where Kili was still picking himself up, his eyes dazed.

“I heard you,” the dragon nearly purred. “Your speech, your breaths, your footsteps upon the rock.” He swirled around the column and approached again. “But most importantly,” he hissed, “your heartbeat. So many of you infested my home all at once, like scurrying cockroaches. Even after I left to get the other one,” his head shifted minutely to Kili, “I knew how to find you again, even through solid rock. Do you want to know how?”

“Because you knew our general location?” Bilba muttered. She wrapped her arms around Kili and helped lever him to a better position, nearly sitting all the way upright. She slid a hand through his hair, feeling a lump where he’d struck his head when he hit the ground. There didn’t appear to be any broken skin or blood and she breathed a slight sigh of relief.

“Your heartbeat has an echo.” The voice was suddenly right at her ear and Bilba screamed in shock, turning violently and jerking away. She hit Kili who, still unsteady, lost his balance and fell over. He managed to grab her as he went so the two of them ended up sprawled on the ground.

“An echoing heartbeat,” Smaug repeated, not moving from his spot. “As though another beat in tune with it.” He lowered his head until it was flat on the ground in front of her. “Though, in your case, as though _two_ beat in tune.”

Bilba stared at him blankly. What in the world was he babbling about? Had the Morgul shafts started to addle his mind?

She turned to look at Kili in confusion, only to see him staring at her with that same look he’d worn earlier.

“What?” she asked her voice snappish.

“Bilba,” he breathed. He swallowed. “You have three heartbeats.”

“That’s ridiculous!" Bilba scoffed. "I think my parents would have noticed if I had more than one heart. Where would they even fit?”

“I never said you have three hearts,” Smaug mused, clearly taking great enjoyment from the entire thing. “I said three heartbeats.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “And I said that’s ridiculous. The only way I could have three heartbeats but not three hearts is if--”

Her mind slammed to a stop as if someone had planted a wall inside her head. Her entire world literally shifted, the very foundations rocking.

A feeling of intense cold washed over her, followed closely by an even stronger wave of dizziness. Her body sagged and she barely felt Kili grab her, pulling her body against his own to support her.

Her mind flashed to her mother, in the early months after she’d learned she was expecting Bilba’s baby brother. She remembered clearly the days her mother spent bent doubled over throwing up everything she’d eaten since the previous morning. She recalled the headaches that would put her mother in bed for days, the fatigue and shortness of breath that had her so tired she could barely move, the sudden cravings for the oddest foods and the, just as unexpected, hatred of things she’d previously loved.

She went back frantically through the previous months, her shock growing as she brought to mind experiencing every last one of those symptoms plus a few more.

No, no her mind insisted, there was just no way. She’d had her courses for Valar’s sake, which meant it couldn’t be true, right? Almost frantic she counted in her head. She was late for this month, granted, but she’d had them in the previous months, right? They’d been little more than a few spots here and there, and not always on a schedule, nothing like it had been in the Shire but that made perfect sense. She was in an entirely new environment; not eating normally, under intense stress, of course her monthly courses would become irregular. She’d even heard of those in the Shire, who’d experienced extreme stress, stopping their courses entirely for a time. It didn’t mean anything…right?

She couldn’t be pregnant. There was simply no way.

“You’re lying,” she stated sharply. “It isn’t possible!”

“Bilba,” Kili started, “you did say--”

“No!” Bilba insisted. She grabbed ahold of his shirt and locked eyes with him. “You don’t understand, it’s _not_ possible! I’m a child of Eru, he’s a child of Mahal! We can’t have children together!”

“Indeed?” Smaug’s voice broke through the borderline hysteria in her mind, breaking her away from frantically trying to find another explanation for what were now crystalizing into blatantly obvious symptoms in her mind. “And who, pray tell, told you that? For that matter,” he continued blithely, “whoever told you that you were a child of Eru? He has two, Elves and Men and you are neither.”

“We look like shorter versions of Men,” Bilba insisted, “and our ears are pointed like Elves so we always assumed--”

“Assumed?” Kili cut in, surprised. “You don’t know?”

“We--” Bilba stammered, “I mean…we had no home for the longest time. We wandered, trying to find a place. It wasn’t easy; we were nearly wiped out, several times. The focus was more on survival and less on remembering where we’d come from.” She shrugged, her hands tightening on his shirt. “We lost who we were and where we’d come from and had to figure it out ourselves.”

“And you decided you must have been children of Eru,” Smaug scoffed. “How typically arrogant of a race. Tell me, _child_ , what does your kind value above all else?”

Bilba couldn’t say for sure why she answered him, other than a deep need to prove him wrong. “Good food, parties,” she whispered, “plants and trees…growing things…green things…peace.”

“And who does that sound like?” Smaug mused. He shifted slightly as though uncomfortable and Bilba saw the discoloration had spread all the way back to his wings. His breathing was even more labored and, with a start, she found herself wondering if his constant movement wasn’t a result of being in pain.

“You list those things and claim your Creator as Eru,” Smaug commented, “when they just as well describe another.”

Bilba didn’t have a chance to respond to that as, beside her, Kili suddenly blurted, “Yavanna.” At Bilba’s questioning gaze he explained, “Yavanna, Giver of Fruits, protector of the Earth. Dwarves pay her honor as the wife of Mahal, our Creator.”

“And as his wife,” Smaug pondered, speaking almost as though to himself, “would it not stand to reason she might desire children of her own upon seeing those her husband had?”

His face did that horrid twisting thing again. Bilba was beginning to realize it was his version of a smile.

“Oh, Mahal,” Kili whispered next to her, “the gift of Unity.”

Bilba jerked sharply, pushing off him as though burned. “The what?” she ordered.

“It’s an old belief of the dwarves,” Kili answered, “A teaching about a gift of Mahal and Yavanna celebrating and symbolizing their union. No one knows what it is, just that it exists. There’s been speculation but nothing that ever really made sense. What if--”

“You’re reaching,” Bilba snapped. She curled in on herself, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs. Her stomach grumbled and she tensed, a shiver wracking her. “It isn’t true,” she nearly pled, “it can’t be.” She wasn’t pregnant.

Smaug sneered at her. The discoloration had spread past his wings and his movements were no longer as crisp as they had been before. “Do you understand now, little fool?”

“Shut up.” Bilba snarled. “Why don’t you just die already?”

“Soon enough,” he answered, “and you will follow after, you and the ones you brought with you.”

Bilba shook her head, “No. You’re just trying to mess with me.”

He was a dragon, playing with a person’s mind was what they did. He was lying, trying to rattle her. Dying was bad enough but to make her think she’d carried children, _her_ children, into it as well, that she’d risked them before a dragon…Valar, that she’d risked them to _Azog_ , to spiders, that she’d leapt between trees as if the only one she endangered was herself, that’d she’d been threatened over and over again and over again…

Fear wound up her spine and she desperately shook her head again. She was a fool, who in their right mind would listen to a word a dragon said?

Beside her, Kili was still staring at her and she shook her head again. “He’s a dragon,” she insisted, “they lie.”

He nodded; but his eyes were unsure. “Except when the truth hurts more.”

Bilba shook her head and buried her face in her arms.

She closed her eyes and tried to pretend the foundations of her world weren’t currently shaking.

She wasn’t pregnant. She just wasn’t.

One hand strayed almost on its own to her stomach, feeling the bulge she'd noticed in Mirkwood, the one that refused to go down no matter how hard she trained.

Her mind went back over the last few months once more, cataloguing everything she’d experienced against everything she remembered about her mother, about Priscilla, who’d been pregnant at about the same time.

She had all the same symptoms.

But, her mind argued desperately, she had to factor in the journey didn’t she? She’d faced the truth of what happened to her family, she’d gone from a steady seven meals a day to only three irregular ones.

Not only that but she’d been under intense stress, faced death multiple times, believed those she’d come to love were lost on several occasions. She knew full well that such mental distress could, and did, cause physical ailments.

So it could well be that, right? Even if the symptoms mimicked the ones she remembered her mother experiencing, they also matched someone undergoing extreme pressure. Even Oin had said it was stress and he was a healer, he would know.

She thought of her sudden ability to smell better than she ever had, her unexpectedly thicker and glossier hair that she’d noticed in Mirkwood and been pleased with ever since. Both were things she distinctly remembered Priscilla laughing about, claiming they were a few of the positive aspects of being pregnant, besides the obvious one of bringing a child into the world.

Valar, she couldn’t be.

Could she? Could she have condemned her unborn children to death before they’d ever taken their first breath?

And _children_. He’d said children, that she was carrying two because one wasn’t life altering enough.

No, no, no, no, no, it had only been one time. What were the odds?

Fifty percent, her mind informed her, always fifty percent no matter if it was once or a hundred times.

She moaned and then flinched as Kili wrapped an arm across her back and shoulders. He pulled her close, warmth from his body soaking into her side. She kept her head down but snuggled against him and his arm tightened in response.

Her mind went to Thorin. Did he even _want_ children?

Under her hand her stomach twisted and clenched beneath her fingers.

It just couldn’t be true.

Could it?

 

 

 

 


	44. Chapter 44

Smaug passed away a few hours later.

The discoloration spread until every speck of russet red was drained and the dragon was the color of a dried out corpse.

His breathing became harsh and his movements sluggish. Eventually he curled into a ball and closed his eyes.

He would not open them again.

It was probably not the death he had envisioned. There would be no songs or ballads about the final moments of Smaug, Terror of the Third Age.

He did not die in a titanic battle over his ill-gotten gold like Scatha.

No mountains were crushed with the force of his fall as with Ancalagon the Black.

He did not, with his final words, bring utter ruin to his foes as Glaurung did.

Smaug, the last of the great worms, usurper of the throne of Erebor, false King under the Mountain…

 

Died in his sleep.

 

Kili was the one who noticed.

“Bilba,” he grabbed her shoulder and shook it lightly. “I think he’s dead.”

Bilba ignored him. She was currently curled on her side with her head in his lap having a crisis.

Was she even ready to be a mother? Her grandfather didn’t think she was ready to handle her own money. Priscilla had chided her in the letter she’d written as though she were a wayward faunt.

She was almost thirty-one years old, very near to her maturity, but she was treated as though she were still a child, incapable of making responsible decisions let alone taking care of another, helpless life.

What if they were right?

Priscilla’s oldest son was about her age and he was already married with an infant daughter. She couldn’t imagine Priscilla scolding Adalgrim in a letter like she had Bilba. What was the difference? Why did no one believe in her?

What if they had reason? What if there was something _wrong_ with her that everyone but she could see?

“Bilba!”

Kili’s voice broke through again. She twitched, and then rolled just enough to glare at him. Couldn’t he see she was busy having a mental breakdown?

“Come on,” he ordered, urging her up. “Smaug’s dead and I think I’ve been hearing noise from the doorway.”

She muttered something uncharitable but allowed him to help her to her feet and went with him toward the blocked off doorway. Once they arrived Kili leaned against the rocks with his ear pressed to the stone.

Bilba stood next to him, facing back into the Treasury. Smaug’s corpse dominated the immediate area; past him were mounds and mounds of gold and precious jewels.

Riches beyond measure but not a single coin could be used to stave off hunger or slake thirst.

A shiver ran through her. She didn’t want to be pregnant. Not when she was trapped in a room with no exit and no food or water.

Kili straightened, his face tense. “I can’t be sure,” he said. “Sometimes I think I hear something and other times I don’t.”

Bilba shuffled forward and pressed her ear to the rock, resting one hand on it. Distantly she thought she heard sound but, as Kili said, it was so muffled and far away she couldn’t be sure if it was real or just her mind playing tricks on her.

She moved back and sighed. “I don’t know. How deep do you think Smaug buried the entrance?”

Kili shrugged. “It was a big column.”

And it was highly unlikely Smaug would have made it quick to tunnel through, he wanted them dead not inconvenienced. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. If what he had said was true, if she truly was pregnant, then she’d doomed her own children to death before they were even born.

She’d be no better than her mother leaving her to fend for herself in the wild with three trolls at the doorstep.

Kili was looking at her with the classic look of horror males of all races got when faced with a crying woman.

“I’m sure it’ll be alright!” he said quickly. “Smaug didn’t take into account how dedicated Uncle is. He’ll get through in time, you’ll see!”

Bilba forced a watery grin. He was almost as bad a liar as she was. Dedication alone wouldn’t get Thorin through layers of rock any faster, not with the limited number of people and resources he had at his disposal.

Kili started to look around, chewing on his lower lip as he did. “There should be water,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “There’s a natural river running through the mountain, they rerouted it when they founded Erebor. The main section ran through the Treasury.” He gave her a slight grin. “See? Fili thinks I just ignored all the lessons Uncle was always giving us.”

Bilba gave a watery nod and clasped her hands in front of her. Kili was younger than her, maturity wise, but was doing a far better job with keeping it together.

“Alright,” she scrubbed at her eyes and face, “let’s find it.”

Kili looked relieved. He held his hand out and Bilba obediently took it, pretending she didn’t feel how cold it was or how it shook slightly in her grip.

“Ok,” Kili whispered to himself. He pointed off to the left. “I think it’s that way.”

He started walking and off they went. Kili cast a sidelong look at Smaug’s corpse. “You know, since we don’t have any food…”

“No,” Bilba cut in instantly. “I’m not eating anything I had an argument with.”

Kili grimaced, his mouth twisting in disgust. “Right.”

“Not to mention we sort of poisoned him,” Bilba continued, “we also don’t know if he had any parasites or other infections and we have no fire to cook him.” Nausea roiled in her gut as she said that and she swallowed.

“Bad idea,” Kili agreed.

Bilba nodded. She didn’t mention it but there was also the fact that Smaug was a servant and creation of Morgoth. She wasn’t sure such a creature _could_ be eaten.

They traveled slowly through the Treasury, moving over massive piles of gold and jewelry.

“Just exactly what was anyone thinking? It would take years to find the Arken-whatever.” Bilba grumbled as they made their way over yet another pile. Her legs sunk in to her knees with every step, making it feel like she was slogging through mud. The ground constantly shifted and slipped under her feet, making her jump and flinch every time with the fear she was going to fall.

“I don’t know.” Kili answered. He had an almost death grip on her hand, holding her up as they went. They’d gone so far that they could no longer see Smaug, suggesting the Treasury was a truly ridiculous size. She couldn’t even imagine the depth. “Bilba,” Kili said slowly, “about what Smaug said--”

“We don’t know it’s true,” Bilba cut in. A cold feeling shot through her as her mind went back over the symptoms she’d been experiencing. One hand went to her stomach, resting lightly on the small bump. “We don’t know,” she insisted again, trying to convince herself. “I’ll have to find out, after we get out of here.” She’d heard tale that human women would often go to Rivendell and the elves would be able to tell them if they were pregnant, sometimes even what gender the baby would be. She hoped the elves in Mirkwood might be able to do the same.

Kili’s eyes narrowed but he graciously kept his mouth shut. That fact alone gained him her eternal trust and loyalty, not that he hadn’t had it already.

His eyes widened suddenly and he held a hand up. “Listen.”

Bilba frowned then felt her own eyes widen as her ears registered the unmistakable, distant sound of running water.

“See?” Kili shouted in excitement, “What did I tell you? Come on!”

He dragged on her hand and they sloughed as fast as they could through piles of loose treasure.

The sound of water grew louder and clearer until, finally, they rounded a corner and found themselves facing the source.

“Wow,” Bilba said, the word slipping out on its own.

When Kili had said a water source she’d imagined a small, simple pool or fountain.

She should have realized dwarves didn’t do anything by halves.

The fountain dominated the wall, slim and narrow but reaching up nearly to the ceiling. It was comprised of delicate, intricately carved tubes and bowls, leading down to a basin probably wide enough and deep enough to swim in. The water came out at the top and followed the lines of the fountain down, splitting as it did until it was a cascade, streams of water sparkling off the polished metal.

Metal that appeared to be solid silver and, even left alone this long, was still so highly polished she could see her own reflection in it.

Kili beamed with pride. “All the main fountains in Erebor are like that,” he explained, “there’s one on every level. Uncle says people would come from all over Middle Earth to see them. They would call Grandfather the Lord of the Silver Fountains.”

“I can believe it.” Bilba continued to stare at the massive structure, such a work of art she had trouble accepting it served a practical purpose. “I wonder why Smaug bothered keeping it clear.” He certainly hadn’t bothered with the rest of the Treasury, treasure littering it in piles and heaps from corner to corner.

Kili shrugged. “He had to drink too.”

He stepped forward and Bilba followed. The water was cool, crisp and delicious and she sighed as it hit her parched throat.

After they’d both had their fill they turned to survey the silent room.

“Now what?” Bilba asked.

Kili chewed on his lower lip. “I don’t know. The rocks in front of the two passages are huge, we couldn’t move them and we don’t have any tools to try and dig through them.”

“What about secret passages?” Bilba studied the walls, trying futilely to spot evidence of a dwarven door. “Thorin said the entire mountain is riddled with them.”

“Not the Treasury,” Kili answered. “If there were Uncle would have already used it to get in here.”

Bilba sighed and sat down on the edge of the wide lip of the fountain. She propped an elbow on her knee and put her chin in her hand, studying the stupid gold.

“So,” Kili started to say slowly, sitting next to her, “do you think that--”

Bilba leapt to her feet. “Let’s look for the Arken-whatever!”

Kili blinked at her in confusion. “The Arkenstone? I thought we already established we’ll never find it.”

“Well,” Bilba flapped her hands, wringing them nervously. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”

She turned to assess the gold, an idea forming. “Do you think Smaug had a favorite place?”

“I guess,” Kili said, trying to figure out where she was going. “He was probably as much a creature of habit as anyone.”

“Okay.” Bilba stepped forward, the coins clinking as her feet hit them. “So if he had a favorite place maybe he surrounded it with his favorite things?”

Kili stood up and walked to her side. “It’s possible. You think the Arkenstone was one of his favorite things?”

“Maybe.” If the rock was as amazing as everyone kept claiming it was wouldn’t it tempt a dragon as well? She moved out into the gold, grimacing at the cool feel against her feet. “Ok, we know the direction he came from. Let’s start looking. Maybe there will be a depression or disturbance showing where he was sleeping.”

Kili didn’t argue. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do aside from sit and wait to starve to death.

Not that she felt Thorin would feel particularly mollified to find the Arkenstone next to their corpses once he finally broke through.

Finding Smaug’s resting spot proved to be remarkably simple. Kili remembered Smaug as coming from the same direction Bilba did so it was a small matter to trace the track backward. They soon found an area where the gold had clearly been arranged to form a bowl in the center, perfect for a sleeping dragon. Ranging the edges were massive statues, mountains of precious gems and mounds of uncut mithril.

“Alright,” Kili said. “Assuming he felt the same way we do about the Arkenstone, then it would probably be here.”

Bilba nodded. Smaug had arrayed his bed with his most precious objects and, according to the dwarves, the Arkenstone had been the most precious of them all.

So it should be here.

She frowned, speaking of precious things…

“Do you still have my ring?”

Kili had been studying the gold but now looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“My ring,” Bilba repeated, “the one you so brilliantly took off even though it made you invisible so the dragon couldn’t catch you.”

His eyes narrowed. “I was trying to distract him from you!” Muttering he dug in a pocket and pulled the ring out, holding it up between his fingers.

Bilba felt a jolt and put her hand out, palm up. “Give it here.”

“Gladly,” Kili muttered, placing it in her hand. As he did a shudder seemed to pass over his frame. When he pulled his hand back he suddenly seemed straighter, a light returning to his eyes she hadn’t realized was missing. “I’m glad to be rid of the thing.”

“Why?” Bilba asked in confusion. “It’s just a ring.” As she spoke a feeling of relief washed over her. She wasn’t trained or wearing armor and she wasn’t as strong or courageous as the others. She was a small hobbit from Bag End who had stepped out her door and wound up in situations far over her head. Having a ring that allowed her to become invisible, gave her a chance to escape when things got rough, helped. It didn’t help the present situation, granted, but it helped her peace of mind. Especially if what the cursed dragon said was true. She couldn’t fight if she was pregnant but she could run and her chances would be a thousand times better if she were invisible.

Kili’s eyes were fixed on the ring, an odd look in his eyes, and she shoved it in a pocket. The ring was hers. He could look all he wanted but she wasn’t giving it up ever again.

“Come on,” she stated, a little more sharply than she’d intended. “Let’s start looking.”

She stalked forward and dropped to her knees, hands digging through a pile of gold. The beginnings of hunger pangs started to gnaw at her stomach and fear coursed through her. Her hands trembled and sweat beaded her forehead. She didn’t want to be hungry. Being hungry forced her to acknowledge her circumstances and she didn’t want to do that.

Kili knelt next to her, his own hands moving through the gold.

“Bilba,” he started to say, only to stop as she snarled at him.

He was silent a moment longer and then sighed. “Do you think we should try and tell him?”

“Tell who what?” Bilba said, her voice sharp.

He barely flinched. “Uncle. What Smaug said, about…you know.”

Bilba swallowed. “Should we find a way to leave word that not only did we die but possibly his unborn children as well? His unborn children who may or may not exist depending on if Smaug was telling the truth? No, Kili, we shouldn’t.”

He put his head down, hair falling over his face. She hadn’t noticed before but it had come loose from the clasp he usually used to keep it off his face. It made him look young and she could feel the anger draining out of her.

Bilba focused on her own mound. “I don’t know even know if he wants children,” she mumbled. “What if he’s angry?”

The sound of coins moving under Kili’s hands stopped.

“Did you know that Uncle had a brother?”

Bilba frowned at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “Yes. He’s mentioned it before.”

Kili nodded. “Counting my mother that’s three children. For dwarves that’s a huge family.”

“It is?” Bilba asked in surprise. Back in the Shire her family had been considered the oddity for only having her and Bungo. Most families with six or more children were considered average if not a bit on the small side.

“Dwarves don’t have children easily,” Kili continued. “There aren’t a lot of dwarf women and many of the ones that do exist don’t want to be pregnant for two years.”

Bilba nearly fell over. “Two _years_?”

He looked startled and then stammered. “Not that I think you’ll be pregnant that long. They’d only be half dwarf, so surely that would be a shorter pregnancy, right?”

Bilba had no idea. Hobbits were generally pregnant around a year, humans she knew were pregnant for less than that and Elves, if she recalled correctly, were pregnant about a year. How long would she be pregnant? It wasn’t as though there were a lot of half dwarf half hobbit children running around she could ask.

“Anyway,” Kili cut into her musings, “what I was trying to get at is children are an enormous blessing to dwarves. Fili and I were considered blessings from Mahal, gifted to the exiles of Erebor as a promise the kingdom would one day be reclaimed.”

He recited the words by rote and Bilba raised an eyebrow. “Heard that a lot have you?”

He ducked his head, an embarrassed smile on his lips. “Once or twice.” He reached over and grabbed her shoulder. “Regardless, though, Uncle would be beside himself with excitement if he knew.”

Bilba felt her own smile start to fade. She looked around the room, the enormous, sealed off room. Her stomach rumbled again, wanting food she couldn’t give it. She put her palm flat over the slight bulge in her stomach.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Kili squeezed her shoulder and then pulled his hand away.

They resumed searching in silence.

 

***

 

The days passed.

The only way they knew was the light, already dim, would slowly fade and almost go out for a time and then return, suggesting it was keeping track of days and nights.

When it grew too dark to see the two of them would go to the fountain and spend the night there before resuming the search in the morning.

The hunger pangs only grew worse until she felt as though her stomach were chewing on her spine. She knew Kili felt the same, he didn’t say anything about it but his face grew more and more serious, the lines of his body more tense. Bilba had always thought he looked like a younger version of his Uncle but the resemblance was even clearer without the happy expression he normally wore.

Neither of them spoke about her possible pregnancy. Bilba tried her best not to think about it but she found her hand straying almost constantly to her stomach. All she could imagine were two little lives slowly fading away before she ever had the chance to meet them. Several times her vision would blur and she would freeze in place, watching tears fall on her hands where they had been shifting through the gold.

For some reason she was convinced she carried twin boys. She could even picture them, dark hair and crystal blue eyes they’d inherited from their father.

She almost felt as thought she’d _already_ met them...somehow.

She wanted to meet them.

Valar, please let her get to meet them.

 

***

 

Kili wasn’t sure what happened at first.

One second he was asleep, dreaming of his brother bursting into the room with a huge platter of pulled pork.

The next second adrenaline was racing through his veins and he was on his feet without realizing he’d gotten up. One hand clutched the hilt of a sword he’d found in the trove and his body was already in the stance Dwalin had spent decades drilling into him and the other trainees.

It took him a second for his mind to catch up to his body and actually register what was happening.

Bilba was screaming.

The sound was awful. Horrible, anguished screams as though she’d been gutted and turned inside out.

He turned and saw her a few feet away. She was on her knees, curled over until her forehead nearly touched the ground, arms wrapped around her stomach.

“Bilba.” Kili threw the sword away and dropped down next to her, hands reaching for her. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He put a hand on her back, feeling the sharp points of her shoulder blades through her shirt. His gut clenched, she was so much smaller than him, had so much less to lose as the days passed.

Her screams died away into gut wrenching, choked, sobs, so intense it was a wonder she could breathe.

“Bilba,” Kili pled, his voice desperate, “please, what is it?”

Carefully he grabbed her arms and gently started to pull her upright. She barely resisted and he soon had her in a sitting position.

He opened his mouth to talk to her again but then his attention was caught by something on her pants and he looked down.

The material on the tops of her thighs was drenched, the wet fabric vanishing down the inner sides of her legs.

“Bilba,” he gasped, panic spiking. Red, his mind supplied, the fabric was scarlet, it was blood, oh Mahal she was drenched in blood. “Bilba what…”

He didn’t get any further as she wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her head against his neck, her entire body shuddering with the force of her sobs. He wrapped his arms around her instantly, his mind reeling in horror. Her frame was slight, so incredibly slight he thought she might shatter if he held to tight.

She cried a long time. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what _to_ say. Fili would know. He always knew what to say and do at any given time.

Kili didn’t. He wasn’t the heir. He was just the spare. Nothing was expected of him, no one looked to him.

Except Bilba.

She’d come to him about the plan to deal with the dragon. Not to Fili or Uncle or Dwalin or any of the others, but him. He could still remember the feeling of pride, of actually being needed for something by someone.

And look where it had gotten her.

He looked down at her. She’d finally stopped crying and was simply sitting slumped in his arms, one hand clutching at his now sodden shirt.

Mahal, but he was useless. He hadn’t been able to save her from Smaug, couldn’t find food for them, and couldn’t find a way out of the Valar forsaken Treasury.

And he couldn’t think of how to comfort her now.

“Kili.”

Her voice was muffled against his shirt, so soft he barely heard her.

“What?”

She was silent a moment. “Don’t tell him.”

He floundered. “What?”

She shifted in his arms, turning her gaze to look out aimlessly into the room. The look in her eyes was empty, her expression blank. “Don’t tell him I lost his children.”

Kili flinched and he tightened his grip on her. “You don’t--” He stopped. He’d been about to tell her she didn’t know for sure what happened but, really, what did he know? Who was he to raise her hopes when he couldn’t be sure? He swallowed and tried again. “None of this was your fault.”

“It was my plan,” she said, her voice hoarse from screaming.

“You didn’t know you were pregnant,” Kili insisted, “and being locked in here is Smaug’s fault, not yours.”

She didn’t answer him but merely buried her head back against his shoulder.

They stayed like that a long time.

Finally, Kili gently moved her away from him. “I think I saw some chests the other day,” he explained. “There might be clothes, you could--” He trailed off but she gave a simple nod to show she understood. She moved back against the fountain and drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them.

“Okay,” Kili said helplessly, rising to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t answer him so he turned and headed into the Treasury. They hadn’t been out much in the past few days. Both were far too weak to do much searching or to handle the trek over the piles of gold.

Not only that but the dragon had begun to rot and the smell was slowly making its way into all corners of the Treasury, staying as far as possible was the only option to try and avoid at least some of the increasingly foul odor.

He found the trunk where he remembered seeing it though he took longer than he would have liked getting to it. Each time he set his foot down it sank in the gold nearly up to his knee and lifting it out again felt like trying to pick up an enormous weight. His body was exhausted on top of that, wavering from side to side and threatening to drop him at any moment.

He didn’t dare go down. He doubted he would be able to get up again.

When he reached the chest he bent over and promptly had to brace himself on the lid lest he fall. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the dizziness away.

Fili probably wouldn’t be dizzy. He would have already designed and built some kind of battering ram to get him and Bilba out of the Treasury days ago.

He found the locks and released them, sending a prayer to Mahal as he did.

For once it seemed Mahal was on his side as the lid lifted to reveal mounds of bejeweled clothing, many of the garments threaded with gold, silver or mithril. He dug through quickly, locating a dress he thought Bilba could wear. He also found a few things that might fit him and pulled them out as well.

He threw them over his shoulder and turned back, his shoulders slumping at the realization of how far he would have to go to return.

The thought of simply giving up and staying where he was never occurred to him. Bilba needed him so he would make it back if he had to crawl on his hands and knees.

He didn’t have to crawl, in the end, though it was a very near thing.

Bilba hadn’t moved aside from putting her head down on her knees.

“Hey,” Kili stood in front of her. “I got you something to wear.”

She raised her head and he flinched at the hollow look in her eyes. She pushed herself to her feet and stood quietly as he laid the dress out on the edge of the fountain. It was ridiculous for the circumstances, a deep royal blue with gold trim and emeralds sewn in along the hem and collar, but it was better than what she currently wore.

He made his way to around a nearby mound of gold and slowly changed into his own new clothing. He could hear the occasional splash of water and movement so he waited until it stopped. He called out but received no answer so finally, steeling himself; he peeked around the edge, ready to quickly avert his eyes if necessary.

Bilba stood in front of the fountain, staring down at the water. She had put the dress on, it was far too large and hung off her body, making her appear even smaller and younger though he knew, maturity wise, she was closer to Fili’s age than his own.

He went forward and saw her old clothes in a pile on the ground. He managed to pick them up without falling and went to the back of the fountain. There was a slight crack in the ground, probably from the idiot dragon, and he dropped the clothes in, watching dispassionately as they fell into darkness.

He then went back around and sat down with his back to the fountain, letting it hold him up. Bilba continued to stare at the fountain until he put a hand up. She took it and let him pull her down onto his lap.

She curled into a ball, one hand tangled in the fabric of his shirt and her head on his shoulder. He put both arms loosely around her.

“Kili?”

“Yes?”

“Promise you won’t tell him.”

“I promise.” He didn’t think he’d be alive to tell Uncle one way or the other.

He wasn't quite sure how long they sat there. Things seemed to shift in and out, one moment clear and the next hazy. He thought it might have been dark and then light again but, really, he just didn't know and couldn't manage to find the strength to care.

His mind pictured Fili finding his corpse and he grimaced. The last thing he ever wanted to do was cause his brother pain.

He sent a mental apology to his Fili and Uncle, the words going sluggish in his mind.

His head fell back, resting against the fountain.

He drifted. His eyes, more or less open, watched as the world went in and out of focus.

He didn’t feel hungry anymore.

He didn’t feel much of anything anymore to be honest.

In his arms Bilba had gone still and silent. He wanted to talk to her but couldn’t seem to find the energy. He managed to get his mouth open but his tongue felt wooden and the only sound to come out was an odd mumble.

A powerful sense of fatigue settled over him and he felt his body relax, muscles loosening and going lax. His head lolled forward slightly, resting lightly against Bilba’s.

Shadow rushed in like an oncoming wave, swallowing everything in his path.

Vaguely, so, so vaguely he thought he heard a noise. The sound of it was familiar, so familiar in fact it sparked something inside him. An awareness that instantly tried to respond, to claw up the sides of the well he suddenly found himself at the bottom of.

But it was so deep and he was so incredibly tired.

He allowed his eyes to close.

The shadows deepened.

He heard the noise again but it was as though a massive gulf separated him from it, he couldn't cross it no matter how hard he tried.

The sound faded.

Shadows lengthened.

 

 

 

Darkness reigned.

 

 

 

 

 


	45. Chapter 45

Bilba struggled to open her eyes, the simple act incredibly hard as the lids felt like they weighed a ton.

Blurry shapes came slowly into focus with each sluggish blink until she realized she was staring at dark rock overhead. Dim light played off it in slow patterns, creating strange shapes and shadows.

Bilba frowned in confusion. Since when did Bag End have stone ceilings?

She cast her mind back; her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Dim memories floated lazily to the surface, hands grabbing her, coaxing her to eat and drink, familiar voices talking to her though she couldn’t make out what they said.

Oh, Bilba remembered with a start, that’s right, the quest. She wasn’t in Bag End anymore, or even the Shire. She’d left with a bunch of dwarves she barely knew, trekked halfway across Middle Earth, nearly died a half dozen times and finally ended things by pissing off a dragon…in Erebor. The Lonely Mountain.

Her head was clearing. Bilba shifted slightly, enough to take in her surroundings. She appeared to be in a small chamber. Broken bits of wood and other debris littered it, there was no telling what it had been before the mountain fell.

She was alone.

Where was everyone?

Something niggled at the back of her mind. She was forgetting something, something important.

She lifted a hand to push wayward strands of hair off her forehead before lowering it to rest on her chest.

Unfamiliar, rich fabric lay under her fingers. She wasn’t wearing the clothing she’d had on before. Why --

Memory crashed back in with such force she physically gasped.

Her eyes burned and she struggled to swallow past the sudden, jagged stone lodged in her throat. Hot tears tracked down her face and she ground the heels of her hands into her eyes, choking on a sob.

“Bilba?” Boots scraped across rock and she felt someone kneeling beside her, a hand on her shoulder. “Bilba, please. Please don’t cry.”

Bilba pulled her hands away and focused on the blurry image of Kili. Reaching out she grabbed his shirt and dragged herself up to a sitting position where she immediately wrapped both arms around his chest and buried her face against his shirt. “I killed them,” she choked out, “Kili, I killed them.”

She felt him flinch, and then his arms came around her in a tight grip. “No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “Bilba, this wasn’t your fault.”

“I took them into a dragon’s den,” Bilba maintained, her voice hoarse and breaking, “how is it _not_ my fault?”

“You didn’t know.” Kili shifted so he could look her in the eyes and repeated the words in a deliberate tone. “You didn’t know.” He swallowed and an anxious look entered his eyes, as though he struggled with something. Finally he took a deep breath and said, “What if--” He swallowed again. “I mean, what if they’re okay? Or—maybe one of them? Smaug said twins—maybe--” He ducked his head. “I don’t want to get your hopes up…or make it worse…but we don’t know, you know?”

Bilba nodded dully, her own eyes focused on the ground, pain still twisting her heart. She had barely known about them and might have already lost them. “Did you tell?” Her voice dropped to a low whisper, the words barely breathed out.

“No,” Kili answered instantly.

Bilba leaned forward and dropped her head against his shoulder, her entire body sagging against him. The last thing she wanted was for Thorin to know he _had_ been a father...had been, might have been, could have been...should have been...wasn't.

Kili’s words repeated inside her head in a slow loop. A tiny spark of hope flickered in the back of her mind. She slid a hand down to her stomach. The small mound was still there but she felt nothing, no nausea, no headache, no fatigue beyond what she’d expect from nearly starving to death. She felt none of the symptoms she’d had the prior few months, symptoms she now, belatedly, recognized for what they were.

She thought of the number of times they’d barely escaped death on the quest. Could she honestly expect her luck to have held out even further? To have spared her children after having already spared her and her friends so many times?

It had to run out, eventually.

She shifted, fatigue dragging at her, and lay down with her head on Kili’s thigh. Once there she curled up, pulled her legs in and wrapped an arm around them, creating a protective cocoon around her stomach.

Kili didn’t say anything. He probably didn’t know what _to_ say. It was ironic in a way. She and Kili were the youngest among the Company, the least likely to know how to deal with a situation like this, and the only ones currently capable of doing so.

Bilba took a deep breath. “How did we get out?”

“There used to be a small colony of intelligent ravens near Erebor,” Kili answered. “Before Smaug attacked we had an alliance with them. Uncle was desperate. He knew he needed help and there was no time to walk back to Lake-town and return. He went looking and found descendants of the Ravens. One of them agreed to fly to Lake-town and get aid.”

Bilba frowned. She shifted until she was laying on her back, looking up at him. “In return for what?” The people of Lake-town, aside from Bard, didn’t know them, owed them nothing.

“Uncle promised them a significant payment. They came and, together, everyone was able to break through the rock and get to us, just in time according to Oin.”

As he spoke his voice grew tense. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Kili’s eyes cut to the side, his jaw clenched. It made him look years older. It made him look like Thorin in fact and, for the first time, Bilba found herself wondering where he was. It wasn’t as though she expected him to be glued to her side. He was the King under the Mountain now, he had responsibilities.

The same went for the others. They had a mountain to clean up, alliances to restore. They’d spent most of their lives waiting for this moment. She couldn’t expect them to set it all aside for her.

Still…she’d spent nearly seven months in their company and fallen in love with their leader. She’d started to think of them as family and had hoped, however faintly, they might feel the same way toward her.

And, as selfish as the thought probably was, not having them there when she woke up hurt.

Kili hadn’t answered her.

Bilba grimaced and struggled to a sitting position, one hand protectively cradling her stomach in spite of her fear there was nothing left to protect.

Kili’s hands grabbed her and helped her up. As he did it occurred to Bilba she didn’t feel as exhausted as she would expect. Looking at herself for the first time she noted that, while thin, she actually had more weight than she remembered from those last few moments of consciousness.

“Kili,” she whispered, her mind going back to hazy memories. “How long have I been asleep?”

“You were a lot worse off than I was,” Kili started, stumbling a bit over his words. “You were so much smaller and…” he clenched his jaw, “you had the babies…so…”

“Kili,” Bilba repeated, her voice hard, “how long was I asleep?”

He swallowed. “Two weeks. You’ve been out, more or less, for two weeks.”

Bilba blinked, her mind struggling to comprehend. Two weeks her mind repeated dully. It certainly explained why Kili looked so hale.

Her hand slid over her stomach, fingers lightly probing the small swell. The tiny, tiny flicker in the back of her mind grew just a bit. Would it still be there if she’d lost her children? Wouldn’t it have gone down?

Kili’s eyes followed her hand. “I thought about talking to Oin,” he said, “but he’d tell Thorin and I knew…” He shrugged helplessly.

Bilba forced a weak smile. “What’s done is done. I doubt him knowing would have made much difference.” She reached out and slid her hands along both sides of his face, turning him to face her fully. “Now, why don’t you tell me whatever it is you’re trying so hard to hide? Two weeks is a long time. What’s happened?”

Kili sighed and his entire body seemed to sag. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice tired. “Everything was fine at first. Uncle was so worried about you. He wouldn’t leave your side for two days. He didn’t even eat or sleep. He just sat, waiting for you to wake up.”

Bilba felt her heart leap. She hadn’t been abandoned after all. “Okay,” she continued, keeping her voice level. “Then what?”

Kili grimaced. “Dwalin caught some of the Men trying to raid the Treasury. They had sacks full of jewels and gold and were trying to haul it off. When Uncle confronted them they claimed they were just taking their due. Uncle promised to pay and they started demanding outrageous sums.” He hesitated and then allowed, “Not all of them…Bard was there and he argued for everyone to be patient and not give in to greed but the group was split down the middle.”

“Let me guess,” Bilba said. “The Master was somehow behind it.” She’d never met the man but, given Thorin’s stories of him, she imagined he was particularly odious.

Kili nodded. “The Master saw an opening in Uncle’s desperation. There was no contract, no set terms, just a plea for aid.”

_He’s so greedy that, rather than settle for an outrageous amount, he demands it all._

Bilba dropped her hands and closed her eyes closed in despair. “This is my fault. The plan was my idea. If I hadn’t--”

Kili’s hand grabbed her chin and pulled her head up to face him. “Are you going to blame yourself for the Master’s greed now too?” He forced a small smile. “Not everything is your fault, Bilba. You focus too much on what you think you’ve done wrong and little on what you’ve done right. We wouldn’t have been saved from the Trolls if you hadn’t been free. You saved Uncle from that thing in the cave and from Azog. We would have been killed by the spiders if you hadn’t released Dwalin and helped get us out and, good plan or not, your idea with Smaug worked.” He grinned at her, a genuine smile for the first time. “We have Erebor back because of you.”

Bilba snorted, a smile tugging at her own lips. “I think you all contributed, a little.”

Kili smirked.

“Okay,” Bilba said, taking a deep breath. “So the Master and his henchmen and Bard and his group. What happened?”

The light dimmed in Kili’s eyes again. “Bard is apparently well liked and has a lot of support. It seemed likely he would win the argument.”

“But,” Bilba said, hearing the unspoken word.

“Thranduil showed up,” Kili said, anger creeping in his voice. “And demanded a portion of the treasure. He insists it’s owed to him by right from before Erebor fell. He also started inciting the Men further, stating they should demand Uncle rebuild Dale, since it never would have been destroyed if not for the gold luring the dragon.”

Bilba shivered, the cold of the small room reaching her. “I imagine Thorin loved that.”

“Uncle…” Kili shook his head. “Uncle threw them out and barricaded the doors. He’s stated that any attempt to enter Erebor will be considered an act of war.”

Bilba stared. “War?” she said dumbly. “He wants to go to war with the elves and the men of Lake-town?” She pushed away from him and struggled to her feet. Dizziness assailed her and she staggered. She probably would have hit the floor but Kili jumped up and grabbed her, wrapping both arms around her waist to support her. Bilba held onto him, giving her head a slight shake as she waited for the dizziness to subside. “Where is he? I need to talk to him.”

“He’s in the Treasury,” Kili tightened his grip. “They all are, searching for the Arkenstone.”

“The Arkenstone?” Bilba said blankly. “Why? What good does it do now? They wanted it to raise an army to kill the dragon. He’s dead.”

Kili bit his lip, and then scowled, apparently coming to a decision. “Uncle sent word to our cousin Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills, and requested his army to defend Erebor. He worded the claim as being from the King under the Mountain. The problem is that Dain has the same bloodline as Uncle, going back to Durin himself.”

“Meaning he can lay claim to the throne,” Bilba said, piecing it together. “Unless Thorin has the addition of the Arkenstone which--”

“Most dwarves accept as being a gift from Mahal granting the divine right to rule,” Kili finished. “If Dain arrived and found it himself it would be thought that Mahal had chosen him over Uncle to be King under the Mountain.”

“Would he do that?” Bilba questioned.

“I don’t think so,” Kili replied, “but Uncle…he’s not himself.”

Bilba was feeling better. She straightened in Kili’s arms, stepping away to support herself. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since the issue with the men and then Thranduil he’s been different,” Kili continued. “He’s paranoid, really paranoid. He thinks everyone is out to take the treasure and mountain from him. He’s convinced the Arkenstone is his only hope and spends every waking moment in the Treasury looking for it.” Kili locked eyes on her. “Once Dain and his army arrive he plans to use the Arkenstone to command them to fight for him, against Thranduil and the men of Lake-town.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Bilba growled. “I didn’t go on this idiotic quest just to watch him throw it all away for a pile of gold and a shiny rock.”

She stomped out of the room and stopped short at the sight of an unfamiliar hall stretching off in both directions. “Kili.”

He stepped up next to her. “Yes?”

“Which way is the Treasury?”

He grinned and offered an arm. Bilba rolled her eyes and took it, trying to pretend she wasn’t leaning on him more than she normally would. They started moving again, slowly.

“Where’s Fili?”

“In the Treasury.” Kili answered. “He’s been trying to get through to Uncle.”

“And everyone else?”

Kili sighed and shrugged. “They aren’t happy but they don’t see it as their place to say anything." He gave her a rueful look. "Keep in mind these are all people so loyal to Uncle they undertook what should have been a suicide mission simply because he asked them to. Now, it's succeeded. Thorin is King.” He gave a slight grin. “Dwalin’s been telling him off about as much as Fili has and Balin keeps trying to counsel him. Uncle finally got so mad he threatened to throw the lot of them out of the mountain if they kept it up.” His smile faded. “Since then only Fili’s dared continued to challenge him.”

Bilba felt a chill in her gut.

They continued the walk in silence.

The air began to change well before they reached the Treasury. At first it was vague, so faint that Bilba wasn’t entirely sure if it was real or imagined. With every step closer, however, it grew stronger until there could be no doubt.

The smell of rot, sickly sweet and nauseating, so thick in the air she felt as though it coated her tongue and throat.

Kili stopped, his own features twisting. “I keep telling myself I’m remembering it worse than it was,” he muttered. “Then I go near again and find out that, if anything, I wasn’t remembering it bad enough.”

He fished in his pockets and came up with a few handkerchiefs. He handed her one and proceeded to tie the other one over his mouth and nose. “It doesn’t help much,” he said, “but you can at least fool yourself into thinking it does.”

Bilba tied the one he’d handed her around her mouth and nose. As warned, the cloth barely took the edge off the stench. Kili took her hand again and they continued.

The smell grew worse, so bad her eyes watered and nausea roiled almost constantly in her throat.

“And you say they’re all in there with that?” she asked Kili, “and they’ve _stayed_?”

Kili nodded. “Now you see why I’m so worried.”

Bilba agreed silently.

The entrance to the Treasury came into view. Bilba saw mounds of rubble blocking most of it. An opening had been driven straight through the middle; the edges jagged and uneven, the supports jammed and wedged in every which way. She felt her steps slow and, without thinking, drew closer to Kili’s side.

He paused as well. “We don’t have to go in,” he said. “You could wait out here and I’ll go get him.”

Bilba took a deep breath, and promptly gagged, practically able to feel the smell squelching down her throat. “No,” she choked, “let’s go.”

Kili sighed, resigned.

They started moving again, through the door and into the Treasury itself.

By that time Bilba’s eyes were watering so badly it was difficult to see anything but a blur. This was probably a good thing as Smaug’s corpse dominated the room and, even through the tears, she saw enough of his decaying carcass to haunt her dreams for years.

Kili tugged her away, murmuring something under his breath as he moved her in an odd pattern over the coins.

It was only as the corner of her foot hit something slick and she slipped, forcing Kili to steady her that she understood he was trying to guide her around the pools of rot and decay that had slipped off the dragon.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered.

“It’s a good place for it,” Kili said dryly. He nodded toward the back of the Treasury. “Uncle liked your idea of where the Arkenstone would be so they’ve been searching the area around Smaug’s nest the entire time.”

Bilba frowned. “And they haven’t found it? Maybe it’s not even there.”

Something in Kili’s face seemed to twitch, an odd expression she didn’t recognize flitting across his features for an instant.

“Come on,” he pulled her toward where she remembered Smaug’s nest being.

She started to hear the clink of coins and the clunk of heavy objects being moved. Every so often Thorin’s voice would ring out, harsh and tinged with frustration, and Bilba would feel her heart jump in response.

Finally they moved over a mound of gold and Bilba caught sight of the Company, ringed out around Smaug’s nest. Deep holes had been dug through the treasure, items of incredible value tossed to the side as though they were worth nothing. Oddly enough, no one but her and Kili had cloth tied over their face. Were the others so obsessed with finding the Arkenstone they didn’t notice the smell of rotting dragon?

Her eyes sought out Thorin and found him at the far end of the nest.

She stumbled to a stop, her eyes wide.

Thorin had cleaned himself up at some point, the dirt and grime of seven months gone from his hair and body. He’d changed his clothing too; going from the travel weary gear she’d become used to seeing to gleaming, gold and black armor. He wore a crown on his head, matching the armor in color and design, and a heavy, velvet cloak flowed from his shoulders and down his back.

He was every inch the King under the Mountain.

Bilba knew that. She _knew_ he was a King. She knew Fili and Kili were Princes.

But, while familiarity may not have bred contempt, it had certainly bred a failure to truly understand that Thorin was a _King_.

She was used to seeing him slogging through mud and muck with the rest of them, taking his turn on watch, cursing at the cold when forced to bathe in ice laden creeks and rivers. She’d grown accustomed to the blacksmith, the traveler, the road weary warrior.

But that had all been a façade. This, this was Thorin Oakenshield.

Son of Thrain.

Son of Thror.

Lord of the Silver Fountains.

King under the Mountain.

Bilba swallowed, suddenly all too aware of her own matted and tangled hair, the layers of grit on her body accumulated since her last real bath, the ridiculous dress that hung off her like a child playing dress up.

“Maybe we should go,” she whispered, her fingers digging into Kili’s arm and…oh Valar but he was a Prince, a _Prince_ and she treated him like he was a friend, same as any other.

Kili gave her a confused look. “It’s fine. Come on, Fili was hoping you might be able to get through to him.”

As he spoke Bilba saw Fili was indeed near Thorin, talking to him in a low, hushed voice, not that Thorin appeared to be listening. Fili had a handkerchief tied over his mouth and nose and looked slightly green; he at least seemed to be aware of the stench.

Kili virtually dragged her forward and Bilba allowed it, her steps wooden and unwieldy.

Fili spotted her first and Bilba felt something relax at the brilliant smile that instantly graced his features.

“Bilba!” He rushed forward over the gold and grabbed her in a giant hug. By the time he released her the rest were there, also reaching to hug her or state how glad they were she was feeling better. Bilba grinned and basked in the glow of being cared for, her tension easing.

“Enough.”

The voice cut like a sword through flesh, instantly silencing the crowd. Thorin stepped into view, his bearing and posture rigid, and nothing at all like the dwarf she was used to seeing.

“Get back to work,” he ordered, his voice a low growl with the barest hint of a cultured accent she’d never noticed before. “We must find the stone.”

Hands fell off her and the other members of the Company quietly returned to shifting through piles of treasure, their eyes downcast and not meeting hers. Bilba hesitantly met Thorin’s eyes.

He nodded at her. “Bilba. I am glad to see you well.” He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, his grip just a tiny bit tighter than she would have liked. His eyes on her were intense. “Kili says you searched for the Arkenstone. Did you find it?”

“Of course not,” Bilba said, confused. “Kili would have told you if we had.” She indicated her dress, sliding her hands into the two, small pockets and turning them inside out, “This is all I was wearing.”

His eyes, already dark, seemed to grow even more shadowed. This close she could see heavy bags under his eyes and a gaunt look to his face as though he hadn’t eaten in awhile. He gave another nod, sharp, and released her.

And, with that, he turned and went back to what he was doing.

Bilba stared after him in bewilderment. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fili exchange an unreadable look with Kili. He opened his mouth to say something but Bilba shook his hand off and went to where Thorin was digging through the treasure.

“Thorin.” He didn’t react, didn’t even twitch. Bilba reached a hand out, hesitant, and laid it on his arm. “Thorin?”

He heaved a sigh and straightened, facing her. “Don’t you think you should retire to your chamber? You’ve only just woke up.”

For the first time Bilba felt her ire begin to rise. “I did,” she bit out, “not that you were there. You were far too busy in here looking for a shiny rock.”

Her voice rose on the last few words and several members of the Company paused in what they were doing to look their way.

Thorin’s eyes went over her head, glaring the rest into submission. He growled something and then grabbed her arm, leading her over to behind a column, well out of sight and earshot of the others.

The location happened to be near the fountain.

As they came to a stop Bilba spotted a few splotches on the rock and bottom of the fountain, dark, rust colored marks marring the stone. Her stomach clenched and the back of her eyes burned. She tore her eyes away and looked up at Thorin. His head was turned to the side, eyes fixed back out into the Treasury. By the time he looked to her, Bilba had gotten herself well enough under control again.

“Thorin,” she said, keeping her voice low, “Kili told me what’s going on. You can’t declare war on the elves and men!”

His eyes narrowed. “They will not have my throne.”

“They don’t want your throne,” Bilba shot back. “They just want what they were promised.” She turned and swept her arm out, indicating the massive room. “Look at it. You have so much you could probably make every person in Middle Earth rich for life and still have enough left over for several lifetimes of your own.”

He sneered, his eyes tracking over the gold. “The gold does not belong to Middle Earth. It belongs to me, to my people. I lost it once. I will not lose it again.”

“You never lost anything,” Bilba argued. “You were a child when Erebor fell. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Protection of Erebor and her people was entrusted to my bloodline,” Thorin insisted, “which means I share in the responsibility for her loss and for every loss thereafter.”

“What about what Thranduil said about your grandfather?” Bilba contended. “His lust for power and treasure was so great he let your people _starve_ rather than accept aid. Will you do the same? Is your own pride and desire for the Arkenstone so great you’ll send your people to war over it?”

It was the wrong, wrong thing to say. That or the right thing but Thorin was nowhere near ready to hear it.

Bilba saw his face twist into something ugly and dark. His hands clenched into fists and his body went rigid, she could actually see the muscles and veins in his neck tensing as he struggled for control.

“I am not my grandfather,” he virtually snarled at her. “Do not presume to believe that because you’ve traveled with us a handful of months you know anything about me or my people.”

Bilba flinched as though struck. "Thorin.”

“You know nothing,” Thorin continued. “I have spent one hundred years seeking the restoration of Erebor and I will not see it given away to thieves and scavengers the second it is reclaimed. I--”

She never heard what else he planned to say. As he spoke Thorin had started to lean closer and closer until he was looming over her. Bilba, without thinking, had instinctively leaned back, cringing slightly as he drew nearer.

A hand fell on Thorin’s shoulder suddenly, just as an arm slid around Bilba’s waist and pulled her away.

“That’s enough, Uncle.” Fili’s voice was cold, his eyes flat. Bilba looked up to see Kili beside her, his own face set.

Fili released Thorin’s shoulder and stepped in front of Bilba. “We’ll take her back to her chamber. She just woke up after all. I doubt she’s well enough to be out for long.”

Thorin growled something but Bilba didn’t catch it. She was startled to find she was shaking. Thorin stalked away from them and Bilba took a step forward, lifting a hand after his retreating back.

Kili’s arm tightened around. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low. “Just let him go.”

“I don’t understand,” Bilba said. “Why is he acting like that? What’s wrong with him?”

Fili grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the exit. “Come on,” he said, his voice tense, “let’s talk somewhere we’re less likely to pass out from the smell.”

Bilba allowed the two to usher her out, deliberately taking a route that kept her out of sight of the rest of the Company.

It did take her nearer to the mortal remains of Smaug and she found her gaze caught by the rotting carcass.

They left the room and entered the hallway and, suddenly, it was all too much, too dark, too small, too closed in.

“I want to go outside.”

Fili frowned. “Bilba.”

“I want to go outside,” Bilba insisted, feeling hysteria rising up in her. “Now.”

Fili looked at Kili and they did that bizarre, mental communication thing they always seemed to have going on. Then, as a unit, they began leading her in a different direction, away from the room she’d woken up in.

They went up, the rock under her feet becoming steeper, staircases leading to higher ledges and walkways.

At one point they went through a low archway that opened up into a massive chamber, filled with intricately built stairs, buildings and statues. In the center of the area, seemingly suspended in midair and connected to the rest of the room only by a narrow bridge, stood a platform with a throne on it. Bilba studied it as they moved past. It was large and dominating and, try as she might, she couldn’t picture Thorin, her Thorin, seated on it.

She could picture the Thorin currently in the Treasury on it though, with little trouble.

Tearing her eyes away, Bilba focused on her feet, trying to ignore the hint of a lump under her dress.

Another area she didn’t want to think about.

The air began to clear and she reached up to pull the handkerchief off her mouth and nose. They rounded a corner and Bilba saw what looked like a blank wall of rock in front of them. Fili strode forward and put his hand on it, finding a recessed area she never would have seen, and pressed on it. A low rumble sounded and a slit of light appeared straight down the center of the slab. It widened and then split in half, both sides swinging open to reveal a burst of sunlight shining in.

Bilba squeezed her eyes shut to let them adjust, even as she inhaled deeply, breathing in the fresh, if cold, air rushing in from outside.

When she felt her eyes were properly used to the sunlight she opened them and stepped up the few stairs to the landing leading out.

It was early morning outside, the sun still chasing the last vestiges of darkness away. A late fall breeze darted around her as though in welcome and she heard the distant sound of birds greeting the day.

Bilba’s entire body sagged in relief and she nearly sat down right there in the doorway. It was strange to think it had been two weeks since she’d seen the outside world, longer than that even when she considered how long they’d been trapped in the Treasury.

The balcony was large and, surprise of all surprises, sported a high railing carved from thick stone.

“See?” she said to Fili. “You people do know how to build railings.”

Fili shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “You have a bizarre obsession with railings.”

“You have a bizarre obsession with a lack of them,” Bilba muttered back.

She moved forward to the edge. The railing went up nearly to her neck but was carved in an intricate design with pieces cut out to let light in. The bottom was a thick slab that had carved pillars set into it, leading up to the top slab and she easily stepped up onto the lower one, bringing her head over the edge of the railing and putting it at a more natural height.

She grabbed the edges, feeling the unfinished stone bite into her palms, looked out over the landscape…and felt her good mood die instantly.

The balcony stood over the front gates of Erebor, providing a view of a small plain that separated the kingdom from the ruins of what had once been Dale.

The plain was currently covered in tents, horses and equipment. As she watched Bilba saw a handful of elves and men wandering about, starting their day.

“Fili,” she gasped. “How many are there?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, stepping up next to her. Kili came up on her other side. “Hundreds at least, possibly well over a thousand. Thranduil was trying to make a point, I think. He succeeded.”

Bilba swallowed. “And how many are coming with Dain?”

Kili answered. “At least a thousand, maybe more.”

Bilba nearly staggered. Over two thousand men, elves and dwarves, all ready to go to war with each other, and for what? Gold?

“How can Thorin want this?” she whispered.

“I don’t think it’s entirely him,” Fili answered from beside her. “Or, at least, I’m pretty sure.”

Bilba pulled her gaze away from the army stretched out below and faced him. “What are you talking about?”

Fili’s face was troubled, his expression grim. “Do you know of the Rings of Power?”

Bilba nodded. “Of course. The rings of Sauron. Nine went to the men, seven to the dwarves and three to the elves.”

“Right.” Fili leaned against the stone, his arms crossed. “Most of the dwarven rings were lost, but not all of them. The line of Durin has one. There are many who believe possession of the ring is what drove our great-grandfather to sickness, and then our grandfather after him.”

“The ring passed to Uncle after grandfather died,” Kili piped up from behind her. “And he’s worn it ever since. He doesn’t believe the ring held any power over his father or grandfather, or over him.”

“He wouldn’t,” Bilba muttered. “He’s got that cursed pride of his.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand, though. He’s had it for years hasn’t he? Why would it make him act like this now?”

“I don’t know,” Fili replied. “I confronted him about it. He got so angry he took the ring off and threw it at me.” He fished in a pocket and pulled the ring out, laying it on his palm. “I’ve had it for days now and Uncle shows no sign of getting better. I thought about getting rid of it entirely but it is an heirloom of our line and I’ve never heard of the rings being able to affect anyone from a great distance. I’ve certainly felt nothing.”

Bilba stared at the ring, chewing on her lower lip as her mind raced. “Maybe it’s like an infected wound. You removed the _source_ of the infection but that doesn’t remove the contamination itself.”

“I don’t know.” Fili closed his fist around the ring again and put it back in his pocket. “I’m not even sure it is the ring. I just know Uncle isn’t thinking, or acting, like himself and no one seems to be able to get through to him.”

“Not that anyone has tried,” Kili said, coming around to stand next to Fili. “They’re all afraid of Uncle.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Bilba whispered. Thorin should have been celebrating, not planning for war. Almost absently she rested a hand on her stomach. If only she knew for sure. She had no doubt learning he was going to be a father would reach him, but she also firmly believed telling him he’d been a father and lost the children would drive him further away. “What can we do?”

Kili cleared his throat and fidgeted slightly. “Well, here’s the thing. We kind of have a plan but we’re not sure how…wise it is.”

Bilba met his eyes calmly. “You’re talking to the person who came up with the plan to stab the dragon in the eye. Tell me.”

 

***

 

Thorin stalked back into the main portion of the Treasury, guilt gnawing at him. A few of the others dared meet his eyes, only to quickly go back to what they were doing when he glared at them.

He stormed past them all and headed to a different area of the Treasury, away from the rest of the Company and as far as he could get from the dragon who somehow managed to find a way to torture him even in death.

There was a solid gold throne like chair shoved haphazardly against the wall, a gift from some forgotten dignitary or another. Thorin dropped into it, bracing an elbow on the armrest and putting his head in his hand, his other arm draped across the opposite armrest.

Why did none of them understand?

His head throbbed. He’d had a headache for over a week that showed no signs of abating. He grimaced and shut his eyes, pressing the fingers of his hands into his temples.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Nothing should have been like this.

He’d been born into a life of privilege, a prince of the line of Durin. He’d had family, friends, a place he belonged. He’d excelled in his studies, stood with pride alongside his father and grandfather. He’d known his life’s path, what was expected of him, what he would become.

And, then, in an instant, it had all fallen apart. The dragon had come and stolen it, replacing safety with fear, luxury with loss and pride with shame.

They had lost Erebor. If Durin still walked the earth he surely would have disowned them.

They had only added to their disgrace by humbling themselves before that wretch Thranduil. Even word of his grandfather’s actions, spurning Thranduil’s offers of aid, did little to help the fact that they’d had to ask at all. A King of dwarves, reduced to a beggar at the door of one who should have been his equal.

And then had come the long days and the empty nights. The screams of women mourning their children, lost to the cold, starvation, fever, bandits, and wolves. With each one fallen the light in the eyes of those remaining had dimmed.

And then Moria. Thorin could still remember the fights between his father and grandfather over trying to retake the lost Kingdom. In the end Thror had won and so they had gone, thousands they did not have to lose, broken upon the mountain, never to return.

Among them his grandfather, father, and brother.

Thorin had barely time to even understand what had happened before he’d found himself crowned King of a broken and homeless people.

He’d been twenty-seven.

There had been no crown or rich feast as there would have been in Erebor but they had made do with what they had. Thorin had looked out across the sea of grief stricken faces, bodies gaunt with hunger, fingers gnarled and broken from hard, back breaking work.

It was then he’d sworn to them to one day reclaim Erebor.

It was also then that that anger had taken root. Day by day as nothing changed, as he fought against impossible odds it had fanned hotter and hotter.

Anger against Smuag.

Anger against Thranduil.

Anger against the orcs, the goblins, the men, every last person who had betrayed them, cheated them, driven them out under the insistence they had no room.

Anger at himself.

At his own impotence, his inability to protect and provide for his people. Mixed with that anger was an equal amount of guilt over every person who died with Erebor still unclaimed, every person he failed.

He had brought all that and more with him on the quest. Standing over the corpse of his enemy had been the culmination of what was truly a lifelong dream. The quest, as far as he was concerned, had not started seven months earlier.

It had started a century earlier when he’d witnessed the Kingdom fall to flames, when he’d witnessed the majority of his family fall to battle and when he’d stood before his people, not even at his majority, and sworn to protect them.

Mahal, it should have gotten better. He should, even now, be sending word of their victory. He and the members of the Company should be cleaning and repairing, readying the mountain for the return of her people.

Instead he’d found Smaug was far from the only dragon intent on taking Erebor.

They lingered like vultures, circling overhead while they struggled and only swooping down now when they thought the dwarves were weak.

They were in for a surprise.

Thorin’s hand on the armrest tensed, his fingers curling around the metal. His head pounded, almost in time to the pulsing anger flowing like molten rock through his veins.

They all thought him weak.

They wanted him to lie down and hand out the contents of _his_ Treasury as though they had any right to it. It belonged to his people. His people, who had suffered and labored for a century with only his promise to keep them going.

Balin and Dwalin thought he was wrong, as did some of the others. Fili thought it was his grandfather’s ring clouding his mind.

Both of them were wrong.

He had proven that already by handing over the ring of his own volition. It had not changed his feelings or his desire.

Thorin lifted his eyes, scanning the carpet of gold stretching out to all sides. Mentally he calculated how much he would owe to each member of the Company, how much the men and elves demanded, how much it would cost to restore Erebor.

His mouth twisted in anger. If he handed coin out to every beggar who came to Erebor’s door there would be nothing left for his own people once they arrived from the Blue Mountains.

The blood of Durin would not fail again. He would protect them where his grandfather, and father, had not.

As for Bilba…guilt rose once more, displacing some of the anger. The pain in his head increased and Thorin grimaced, digging his fingers into his temple. He _didn’t_ expect her to understand. It wasn’t a criticism. She wasn’t a dwarf and certainly wasn’t an Ereborean dwarf. Though she’d had her own share of tragedy she knew nothing of being homeless, betrayed, of witnessing death and destruction on a daily basis and being powerless to stop it.

He’d been alive over a hundred years. She’d only been with them for seven months, how could she be expected to understand?

Still, his mind chided, there had been no reason to point it out to her and certainly not in the tone he’d used. He’d scared her; there was no excuse for it. He should have been taking her on a grand tour of Erebor, showing her the beauty she’d helped restore.

Another thing the elves and men had stolen from him.

Thorin sighed and shoved up from the chair. He would apologize to her, he decided, later, after he’d found the Arkenstone and secured Erebor’s security and future. It was important, anyone could take the Arkenstone and claim Mahal’s divine right to rule. Even one of the cursed men or elves could do it, or one of the dwarves Dain brought with him even now. He didn’t believe his cousin would try to claim his throne but he knew nothing about the other dwarves of the Iron Hills.

With that decided he raised his head and threw his shoulders back, ready to face the task ahead once more.

He strode back to where the others still searched; leaving his doubts and fears behind.

He never noticed his headache had lessened, if only by a fraction.

 

***

 

Bilba stared at the Arkenstone. The gem sparkled with its own inner light, different colors glittering and playing off the area around it.

“Okay,” she said slowly, “so maybe it’s a bit more than a shiny rock.” She looked up at Kili. “When did you find it?”

“Two days before we were rescued,” he said; his expression nervous. “I didn’t tell you because--”

“Because looking for it was a good distraction,” Bilba cut in. She smiled. “I probably would have done the same thing.”

Kili grinned in relief.

Bilba chewed on her lower lip and absently reached out to pick up the gem. It felt cool under her fingers and was small enough she could hold it easily in one hand.

“So,” she said, studying it, “Thorin wants to use this to cement his leadership and start a war.” She looked over to where Fili hovered near the door, watching for anyone who might come by. “And you want to what?”

Fili answered. “We thought we could take it to Thranduil and have him trade it back for a portion of the treasure.”

Bilba shook her head. “What’s to stop him from making a ridiculous demand for it?”

“We thought about specifying an amount,” Kili said, “but we weren’t sure how much.”

Bilba chewed on her lower lip. “What about what you were promised in the contract? You’re both Princes, it’s not like you’ll be hurting for coin.”

Kili shook his head. “We don’t get a share _because_ we’re Princes. Uncle doesn’t either, since he’s the King. It was just everyone else that got a part.”

“Okay.” Bilba’s mind worked quickly. She stared at the rock in her hand. “I’ll do it then. The Arkenstone for my share of the treasure.” She frowned. “Or I could just offer my share in the first place, cut out the intrigue.”

“It won’t work,” Fili said immediately. “Bofur already offered his share of the treasure to ensure peace. Uncle refused. He said he wouldn’t give over even a single coin.”

Bilba sighed. “Of course not. He always has to make things difficult. Alright, then. I can offer mine. I don’t need it anyway.”

“No,” Kili’s eyes locked on her. “You more than earned it.”

“What use would I have for it?” Bilba asked. “I already have a home and I’m well off financially.” Or she would be as soon as she demanded control of her finances from her grandfather. Honestly, what was wrong with her that she’d quietly accepted him doling money out to her like she was a child for so long? She was thirty years old, more than old enough to deal with her own things. She gave Kili a rueful grin. “What would I spend it on? New clothes? I have a large wardrobe. Food? The market isn’t that expensive.”

At the door Fili gave her an odd look. “Are you still planning to return to the Shire? Even after you marry Uncle?”

Bilba’s mouth opened and she felt her face flush. To be honest she hadn’t thought it out that far, the idea of marrying Thorin still far too surreal. A large part of her still firmly believed she’d wake up at any moment to find it had all been a dream and they were still on the road with Thorin glaring at her every five feet. “I would still visit,” she said, “maybe even spend some winters there. I imagine Erebor probably gets rather cold in winter. And I have family and friends there. I would want to see them again.” She looked at Fili. “Are you sure this is the best plan?”

“Dain will be here in two days,” Fili said. “I’ve spent every day you’ve been asleep arguing with him. I’ve even tried to talk to the men and elves, none will budge. The only way I can see to break the impasse is by forcing someone’s hand. I have no control over the elves and men so the only one I can affect is Uncle.”

Bilba nodded. “Okay.” She picked up the Arkenstone, feeling its solid weight in her hand, and stood up. “Best get this over with then.” As she spoke her gut churned and a light sweat broke out on her forehead. She trusted Fili and Kili, she did. She’d also seen Thorin, how wild and dark his eyes had been, how he’d refused to listen to a single word she tried to say.

She’d only just woken up, though, and the last time she’d seen Thorin he’d been _her_ Thorin. Fili and Kili had lived with the new one for two weeks; she’d barely met him.

“Bilba,” Fili stepped forward, “you don’t have to do this.”

“I trust you,” Bilba stated, looking up to meet his eyes. “If you say this is the best way then it’s the best way.”

Kili stepped up and put a hand over hers. “I should go,” he said. “I can do it instead. You can stay here.”

“They aren’t going to hurt me,” Bilba said with a slight smile. “And you can’t do it; it’s not your share of the treasure. I don’t think they’ll agree to treat with you.”

His eyes narrowed. “I can still go with you though, just in case you need me.”

On the off chance that someone did try to harm her, Bilba seriously doubted Kili would be able to make much difference. They would be grossly outnumbered and far from safety.

She looked in his eyes, saw them pleading with her, and sighed. “I would be honored if you would accompany me, Kili.”

He positively beamed and, behind him, Bilba saw Fili grinning as well. She shook her head in amusement. She slipped the stone into her pocket and steeled herself. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Yes,” Fili mused behind her as they headed back in, “lets. Then hopefully everything will get back to normal and we can discuss the nickname Kili reports you have for us.”

Bilba choked and then turned and smacked Kili on the arm. “Kili! I told you that in private!”

“Ow!” Kili groused, faux rubbing his arm where she doubted he’d even felt the blow through the padding. “You never said I wasn’t allowed to tell!” He turned on Fili. “Why’d you tell her you knew?”

The two fell to mock arguing behind her and Bilba laughed. As she did she turned and found they were passing by the throne room again. Her gaze lit on the throne, hidden in shadow, dark and imposing. A feeling of foreboding fell upon her and, without knowing why, she was suddenly convinced she would not see it again for a very long time.

Her laughter slowly faded.

 

***

 

Getting out of the mountain proved to be no problem for Bilba and Kili. The only way out at the moment was the back entrance, the front still blocked from when Smaug had collapsed the entrance after the fall of Erebor.

That meant going back through the Treasury, an experience she was sure would put her off eating for life.

On her way, Bilba couldn’t help but stop and try to speak to Thorin one final time but he rebuffed her sharply, his annoyance clear. The look in his eyes was almost frenzied and Bilba had been startled to see, for the first time, his hands were bruised and bloodied from his frantic search through the treasure.

The others all looked exhausted. Balin appeared near to collapse while Dwalin was leaning on a shovel near asleep. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur were studiously searching and not looking at Thorin at all while Dori was clearly keeping Ori well away from the new King. She could not tell what Gloin or Oin might be thinking as they dug through the gold and Nori seemed more excited about evaluating each piece than searching for a specific one.

Bilba left unnoticed after a few moments, Kili alongside her. Fili returned to his uncle’s side, still trying to convince him to rest, eat, anything other than continue searching for the Arkenstone.

As they headed toward the exit, far out of sight of the rest, Bilba couldn’t stop the gnawing sense of guilt in her stomach at the thought of what she was doing.

Thorin would see it as a betrayal, of that she had no doubt. Would he be able to see past it to realize she’d been trying to save him, not hurt him? If he was infected by the lasting influence of his grandfather’s ring would he be able to throw it off and return to his old self?

Or, a small voice inside her whispered, was this who Thorin had been all along?

She stumbled, forcing Kili to grab her elbow and steady her.

You’ve known him less than a year, her traitorous mind continued, who can say this isn’t who he is? That the dwarf you knew on the road wasn’t the aberration?

No, she told herself, no, she didn’t believe it. She ran back over their interactions, conversations, all the way back to the Prancing Pony in Bree where he hadn’t hesitated to protect her from a pair of drunkards.

That was the real Thorin Oakenshield. Kind, honorable, hero of Moria, beloved Uncle.

Her beloved.

The stairs loomed ahead of them and she let out a breath, trying to calm the nerves jangling all over her body.

“Are you alright?” Kili asked and she nodded stiffly.

“You know,” Kili started slowly, “while we’re there…I mean…the elves…I’m sure they have healers…”

“We don’t have time,” Bilba said quickly. “We need to get in and return as fast as possible.”

She wrapped her arm around his bicep as she spoke, her other hand flat on her stomach. She didn’t want to go to the healers. She didn’t want to know. As long as she didn’t know she could lie to herself, hold a tiny spark of hope she hadn’t lost them.

If she went to the healers, and they told her the babies were gone, what would she have then?

 

***

 

As soon as they reached the edge of the camp they were confronted by several guards stationed there to keep watch.

After that Bilba and Kili were escorted to a large, brightly colored tent near the far, back edge of the camp.

Inside, Bilba saw thick rugs had been spread about the ground, a large oak table dominated the center of the room and a small fire had been built, smoke funneled out through a chute going through the top of the tent. It gave a warm, cozy, inviting feel to the tent, not exactly what she would expect of Thranduil.

The Elven King lounged in a chair at one end of the table, his son next to him. It was much like the first time she’d met him, though in far different circumstances.

Next to Legolas stood Bard. He looked like he’d dressed in a hurry and she wondered if word had been sent to him of their arrival so he could join. He gave her a smile now and she smiled back in relief, pleased the bargeman appeared to have no quarrel with her personally.

“Bilba,” he said, inclining his head. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. The last time I saw you I confess I worried for your life.”

“I was worried about it too,” Bilba said, absently wringing her hands, “but Yavanna was with me it would seem.”

Yavanna. It was the first time she’d referenced the Valar that Smaug claimed was the creator of the hobbits. Surprisingly, however, the name had an odd familiarity to it, as though she mentioned an old friend she hadn’t seen in some time.

She wasn’t able to reflect on the thought any further as Thranduil straightened in his chair. “Enough. Why have you come?”

Bilba opened her mouth and, for possibly the first time in her life, found herself speechless. She struggled to pull up the correct words to explain but lingering physical and emotional fatigue dragged on her, refusing to let her have access to what she needed. Almost frantic, she looked at Kili where he stood next to her.

His eyes widened, barely, and then he stepped forward and began confidently explaining what their purpose was. Bilba heaved a silent sigh of relief, grateful she had him with her.

When Kili finished Thranduil, Legolas and Bard were all staring at them in varying degrees of shock.

“And you think this will work?” Bard asked. “That he’ll agree to trade a portion of gold for the stone’s return?”

Kili hadn’t mentioned it was specifically Bilba’s gold, for which she was grateful. The issue would probably just muddy the waters even more. Instead he’d simply stated a price and refused to explain how he’d come up with the number. He was a Prince, he was not required to explain everything.

Bilba was proud of him and found herself wishing Thorin and Fili could be there to see him. She’d noticed from time to time how overprotective they both were of him. It would be nice for them to see him as an adult in his own right.

“I do,” Kili responded.

Legolas leaned over toward his father. “Is it possible?” he asked. “Could he be influenced by one of the rings of power?”

Thranduil frowned, his face creased thought. “It is possible,” he replied finally. “Though I cannot say whether or not this act will free him from its control.” He turned his head to face his son. “The rings of power are not like the One Ring. They do not make you into something you are not. They simply make worse traits that are already there.”

“We aren’t sure about it,” Bilba broke in. “The ring has been with him for a long time. Currently it has been removed and, if it is infecting him, we hope the affect will wane.”

“It will not,” Thranduil said casually, “I cannot say why it has chosen now to infect him, if it even has, but, once done, only a profound event will bring him out of it.”

Bilba shivered at the words. It made it sound like the ring had a will of its own, plotting and planning out its actions. She’d heard legends of the One Ring having a will of its own because of its link to Sauron. She’d never heard the same of the other rings, however, and she’d certainly never heard of any of them acting without the Dark Lord influencing them in some way. Since Sauron was gone the rings should be harmless.

Thranduil sighed and straightened in his chair. “It is possible revealing we have the Arkenstone will shock him back to himself, assuming he is not acting entirely of his own will already. It is also possible the action will simply drive him further into madness and start the war early.”

“It will start either way in that instance,” Kili said. “Shouldn’t we take the path that actually has a good outcome as a possibility?”

“What about you?” Bard said, his eyes on Bilba. “He will be angry.”

“It’s not her fault,” Kili said instantly. “The plan was mine and Fili’s. We will take full responsibility for it.”

“You should stay here,” Bard continued. “Until Oakenshield has had a chance to calm down.”

Bilba shook her head. “No. I don’t want him seeing me as united with you against him.” She smiled. “He’s not entirely himself but he’s still Thorin. He won’t hurt me.”

“And she’ll have me and Fili there,” Kili interjected, his voice like steel. “We won’t allow her to come to harm.”

There was little more to be done after that. Bilba handed over the Arkenstone, barely suppressing a flinch as Thranduil took it from her.

After that they left and made their way back into the mountain. Bilba found herself wrapping her arms around her stomach. Kili, next to her, was also tense, his jaw tight and his shoulders hunched together. Bilba shivered in the cold air, feeling it cut right through the thin material of the dress she wore.

“Do you think we did the right thing?”

“I don’t know,” Kili responded. “I guess we’ll find out.”

 

***

 

Bilba retired to her small chamber when she returned, unwilling to spend more time near the rotting dragon’s carcass.

Kili sat next to her, his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped around them.

After that they waited.

Neither one spoke.

The sound of footsteps was the first warning of anything having changed.

A shadow fell across the doorway and they looked up to see Dwalin standing there, his face unreadable.

“Thorin wants you both,” he boomed, “now.”

Kili got to his feet and held a hand down to her. Bilba took it and let him pull her up. His hand felt cold and clammy in her grip, much like hers must feel.

Dwalin turned and strode out without a word.

“You don’t have to go,” Kili told her. “Fili and I can take care of it.”

Bilba shook her head. She’d been involved so she should be willing to face the consequences.

Together they followed Dwalin out.

The path they took ended up on the same balcony she’d first been on with Fili and Kili, though they took a different route that didn’t send them through the throne room.

It had started to cloud up outside, as though the weather itself was somehow reflecting the current mood. A brisk, cold wind was whipping in short bursts across the balcony and Bilba shivered.

Thorin stood dead center, alone except for Fili standing near him. Dwalin vanished back into the corridor, leaving them. Thorin’s body was so still it could have been carved from mithril and his hands were curled into tight fists at his side. The only movement came from the gusts of wind blowing through his hair and cloak.

The look on his face was thunderous.

They had made things worse.

Bilba knew it instantly. She saw Fili standing in front of Thorin, half turned toward them and could see by the expression on his face that he knew it too.

“Uncle,” Kili started, stepping forward.

“Silence.” Thorin’s voice was like ice. His eyes sought hers out and Bilba felt herself go still. “You,” he growled, “you did this.”

“What?” Kili said. “No, Uncle, it was our idea. Mine and Fili’s! Bilba only went along with it because we asked her to.”

“And yet you only sought to betray me after she woke up,” Thorin hissed.

“I had the Arkenstone before she woke up,” Kili argued back. “Before you ever found us. It was my idea, Uncle, not hers.”

“What does it matter whose idea it was?” Bilba broke in. “I am owed a share of the treasure just as much as anyone else. I chose the Arkenstone as that share. If you want it back simply trade the gold for it.”

His eyes came back to her and Bilba felt her insides twist. She was scared, oh Valar, she was scared of Thorin.

“You have no share,” Thorin said, his voice flat, “or have you forgotten you surrendered it in Rivendell?”

Bilba felt as though she’d been punched. In a flash the fight from Imladris came back to her. Thorin refusing to let her come, insisting he released her from the contract, and Bilba agreeing.

“I forgot,” she said, stunned. “I—Thorin--”

“You stole the Arkenstone,” Thorin thundered, “and delivered it into the hands of my enemies!”

“They are not your enemies, Uncle,” Fili said, his voice hoarse as though he’d been shouting. “You’re mind has been clouded, Uncle, please--”

“The only minds clouded are yours!” Thorin roared. He whirled back to Bilba. “Did I not say you would divide us? Did I not say you had no business being with us?” He waved a hand out, encompassing his nephews. “Look what you have done.”

Bilba felt faint and there was a loud roaring in her ears. She clasped her hands in front of her stomach, the knuckles white. “Thorin, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I swear. I just…you can’t go to war, Thorin. Not over gold.”

“What right do you have to any say in it?” he snarled, stalking closer. “You are not one of us,” Thorin snapped. “You had no right. Gandalf spoke true when he named you a burglar, for a thief and a liar is what you are. You have betrayed me. You stole the Arkenstone and now you seek to steal my nephews from me as well.”

Bilba shook her head. She didn’t understand why Thorin was so insistent on blaming her alone. She struggled to figure out what to say to make him see the truth. “I have never meant you harm, Thorin. You know that.” She latched onto what Kili had said to her earlier. The slightest hint of anger bled into her voice. “I saved your life, _twice_. Why would I do that if I was against you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he snapped back, “perhaps this was your plan all along. To steal Erebor from under my nose and hand her to my enemies!”

“What?” Bilba said in shock. “Thorin, that’s insane! Listen to yourself! You aren’t thinking straight! It’s the ring, your grandfather’s ring. It poisoned his mind and now it’s poisoning yours!”

“I AM NOT MY GRANDFATHER!” Thorin roared. “What I am is a fool! A fool to think you were ever anything more than what I recognized you for in Rivendell. A thief, a liar and a traitor.”

Kili was suddenly standing in front of her. Fili had moved also, stepping up behind Thorin.

“You will not speak to her like that again.” Fili stated flatly. Both were tense, their heads held high and, for an instant, they reminded Bilba of something. An image rose hazily in her mind of two figures, slimmer than Fili and Kili with dark hair and clean shaven faces, pride and steel in their eyes as they rose to guard her.

Then Thorin spoke and the image shattered and was gone before she could think of where she’d seen it before.

“You are correct,” Thorin stated, his voice suddenly deathly calm. Bilba tensed, suddenly feeling somehow as though a giant weight hung over her head, waiting to come down and crush her. “I will not speak to her again.”

Bilba stopped breathing, stopped moving, desperate to somehow stop time itself, to freeze things before they could go past a point from which they could never return. It felt as though she stood at the base of a rockslide, desperately trying to prevent it from happening.

Thorin spun on one heel, shoving past Fili and stalked back to the edge of the balcony. Once there he turned to face them.

“Bilba Baggins, I hereby charge and find you guilty of treason against Erebor.”

Fili sucked in a breath. “Uncle.”

Thorin’s expression never changed. “As your punishment you are henceforth banished from Erebor under pain of death. Do not let me see your face again.”

Bilba swayed on her feet, her breath stolen from her lungs. “No,” she whispered. “Thorin, no.”

“Uncle,” Kili said, his voice desperate, “don’t do this.”

“It is done,” Thorin growled. “Be grateful I am showing mercy and not having you executed for your crime.”

“Uncle!” Fili snapped. “Listen to yourself! This isn’t you!”

He moved forward, still arguing but Bilba could no longer hear him. A loud roaring had started in her ears.

“Kili,” she whispered. “Kili, what do I do? What do I do?”

She staggered and his arms slid around her waist. “Come on,” he said, gently. “We need to leave.”

“Leave?” Bilba asked blankly. “Leave where?”

She looked and saw Thorin had his back toward them and was leaning on the balcony. Fili was stalking toward them, his face hard. He grabbed Kili's arm and leaned in close to him, speaking sharply. Kili pulled back and looked at him, startled, but then nodded and the two separated. Then Bilba was being led and they were walking out, down the corridor, away, away, away.

They were going toward the Treasury. “No,” Bilba said, setting her feet. “Kili, no. I have to go back. I have to talk to him.”

Fili hoisted her up in his arms. “He’s not ready to listen, Bilba. We need to give him some time.”

Her face was wet. She was crying. When had she started crying?

“Bilba,” Kili said beside her, his voice wretched. “Bilba, I’m sorry. This is our fault.”

“It was my choice,” Bilba whispered, her voice broken. “No one made me.”

She struggled suddenly, wanting Fili to put her down. He obeyed and Bilba sagged down to her knees, wrapping her arms around her stomach and leaning forward until her forehead touched the ground. She didn't want to go. If she could stay, just stay right there in that very spot maybe she could stop it, stop it all before it shattered into a million pieces she could never put back together. Her heart felt as though it had been rent in two, a searing, vicious pain that denoted a wound so profound it would surely prove fatal.

Fili and Kili knelt next to her, their hands on her back. “Bilba,” Fili said helplessly. “It’ll be alright. We’ll fix it. I swear.”

“You can’t promise me that.” Bilba sobbed. She dug her fingers into her sides and struggled to breathe. She couldn’t seem to draw deep enough breaths and spots were already dancing in front of her eyes.

Kili pulled her to her feet and picked her up. Bilba wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not opening them when the stink of Smaug hit her nostrils, or even when she heard the low voice of other Company members and Fili’s angry answer. She heard gasps and protestations but not a single one offered to go talk to Thorin or suggested she should stay.

The pain was like a knife wound, ripping straight through her soul. She thought she’d meant more to them. They certainly had meant more to her.

Then they were moving again and soon a cold breeze was wrapping around her and the creaking of distant branches was in her ears.

“Put me down,” she ordered quietly and Kili obeyed, steadying her until she had her footing. Bilba gripped his forearms and looked past him to where the door to the mountain stood closed.

“He doesn’t mean it,” she whispered, looking at Kili desperately. “Right? He doesn’t mean it?”

Kili forced a smile. “I’m sure he doesn’t. He just needs some time to calm down, that’s all.”

“You’re still such a horrible liar,” Bilba said, her voice cracking. She turned her attention to Fili. “Are you going to leave me here?” Her voice was small, even to her own ears, almost childlike.

“Of course not,” Fili said, his voice gentle. “We’re going with you. Just wait until our mother gets here and finds out we’re not in the mountain. She’ll knock sense into him, you’ll see.”

Bilba didn’t answer.

Kili gently steered her toward the camps down below.

Bilba walked numbly, each step agonizing.

She couldn’t accept the thought of never seeing any of them again.

None of them came to your aid, her mind whispered, they don’t care about you.

Was it possible? Had it all been a lie? Had she spent the last seven months falsely believing they cared about her?

Believing Thorin cared?

Pain stabbed her heart once more, so fierce it was nearly physical, forcing a gasp out of her.

It was like losing her family all over again.

 

***

 

Thorin watched as the three made their way toward the camps down below. His teeth were clenched so hard his jaw ached and his hands dug into the sharp corners of the railing.

How could they? How could they do this to him?

His eyes went to Bilba and he felt a stab of pain in his heart. Mentally he cursed his own weakness. He’d allowed her into his trust and she’d used it against him. She’d turned his own nephews against him, so thoroughly they’d chosen to leave with her rather than stay in Erebor where they belonged.

He pushed off the ledge and turned to head back into the mountain. Thranduil’s smug face as he held up the Arkenstone floated through his head and he snarled in anger.

Surely his nephews would see reason soon enough. They would recognize her for the viper she was and return to plea for his forgiveness, which he would magnanimously give, before they returned to his side where they belonged.

For now, however, he had a war to plan. The elves and men would rue the day they conspired against him.

As he stalked into the mountain his headache faded even further intensity, a dull throb in the back of his mind.

 

***

 

Thranduil was angry. Whatever Thorin had said to him, it had succeed in fully enraging the elven king.

“So,” he stated coldly, facing the three of them. “It would appear your grand plan has failed.”

Bilba didn’t respond, focusing instead on nothing in particular. Bard stood off to one side, his eyes compassionate. Bilba looked away, unable to bear it. She didn’t know where Legolas was, he hadn’t been in the tent when they’d been ushered in.

Fili was talking but Bilba wasn’t sure what he was saying. His voice was just a mumble to her ears.

How had things gone so wrong so fast? It still felt so unreal. Her family all over again. One second everything was great, the next there was only pain.

“How do I know this isn’t all part of a greater plan?” Thranduil said suddenly. “That this isn’t all a ploy to plant you here as spies?”

“We aren’t spies,” Fili snapped. “We came because we genuinely wanted peace, and we still do.”

Thranduil studied them. “It is possible but you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you.”

He waved a hand and suddenly guards appeared out of nowhere.

“What are you doing?” Kili demanded. He stepped forward but one of the guards grabbed his arm, dragging him back.

One of the guards reached for her arm and Bilba jerked back. “Don’t touch me.”

The guard stretched out his hand again and, again, Bilba moved away, her nerves at their breaking point.

“You will be taken to Mirkwood and imprisoned until such a time as we can determine your true motives,” Thranduil intoned. “Or until your beloved Uncle has managed to get himself killed, in which case the point will be moot.”

Bilba cried out at that, her heart wrenching in her chest, and Fili and Kili both broke into shouting. Bard stepped forward, trying to calm matters and Bilba moved forward as well, unsure of what exactly she planned.

The guard tried to grab her again and, when she resisted, he proceed to simply wrap his arms around her waist and pick her up.

Bilba fought back only to feel a spike of true terror as the elf’s arms tightened to the point of pain around her stomach. She screamed again and renewed her efforts, desperate to get out of his grasp.

“What are you doing?” Kili yelled, “put her down!”

“Tell her to stop fighting,” Thranduil snapped, “and he will do so.”

The arms went tighter still and Bilba sobbed in pain, her eyes seeking out Kili in a panic. The guard was squeezing her, he was squeezing so tight and even if her babies were still alive he was going to kill them and she couldn't make him stop in time, couldn't make him stop at all and it would all be her fault and he was going to _kill her babies_.

“You _BASTARD_!” Kili snarled, wrenching away from the guard and drawing his sword. “Put her _DOWN_! She’s _PREGNANT_!”

Dead silence fell over the tent. Fili was staring at her, his mouth hanging open.

Thranduil’s eyes focused on her. “Is this true?” There was the barest widening of his eyes, the slightest hint of shock in his voice.

“I don’t know anymore,” Bilba said, struggling to speak through sobs, despair pushing her past her breaking point. “I started bleeding and I almost died and now he won’t stop squeezing my stomach and it _hurts_!”

Without warning Bard was suddenly there. He snapped something at the guard and then was taking her out of his arms, sliding his own around her waist and under her legs. Bilba curled against his chest and sobbed into his neck, no longer able to handle anything at all. Bard stepped toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Fili demanded.

“To the healing tents,” Bard barked. “You lot feel free to continue killing yourselves on your own.”

And, with that, he strode out.

No one tried to stop him.

 

***

 

The tiny woman in his arms didn’t speak the entire way to the healing tents.

Bard handed her off to the elven healer and then took up a stance outside. It was cold but not yet raining, though the dark clouds overhead threatened it later.

He sighed and leaned lightly against one of the support poles for the tent. He wasn’t sure if the healer could even help the young woman. For humans the only way to tell if there had been a miscarriage often was to wait for the stillborn baby to be delivered or, if the pregnancy was not yet advanced enough, to wait and see if the woman grew larger with the signs of life.

Still, elves were immortal. Surely over their long lives they had discovered better ways to aid in certain medical mysteries, such as being able to tell if a young woman were still pregnant.

He remembered the shattered look in her eyes, like she was barely holding the shreds of her soul together, and couldn’t help a dark glare in the direction of the mountain.

He had no doubt as to who the father was. The same fool who’d apparently banished her for no other reason than her attempts to save him from his own idiocy.

The flap of the tent opened and the healer emerged. He gave a short nod of greeting to Bard. “She has asked for privacy,” he said simply and then proceeded to walk away in the direction of the mess tent.

Bard waited over a half hour for her to come out, hoping to be able to talk to her and offer at least some words of comfort, as useless as they no doubt would be.

Finally, worried over her continued absence, he got up and carefully entered the tent.

“Bilba? Is it alright if I come in?”

The inside of the tent was divided into different areas with cloth, allowing privacy for individual patients.

Bard stood quietly but heard nothing. “Bilba?”

He moved to the nearest small area and pulled the curtain aside, the area beyond was empty. The second one was equally empty as was the third after that.

The fourth one he pulled aside…and stopped.

Bilba was just inside, kneeling down with her legs tucked underneath her.

Arrayed in a fan like pattern before her on the ground were long locks of amber colored hair. Lying diagonally across the center of the hair was a long braid, capped on one end by a bead and the other end by a piece of twine.

Bard moved his eyes and saw her hands quietly lying in her lap. One hand held a large knife. He couldn’t begin to imagine where she’d gotten it from. The other held a large, ornate silver ring on a chain. He hadn't seen it before but he remembered seeing the braid swinging behind her ear.

His eyes went to her head. She’d chopped her hair down to near stubble, barely an inch or so long. Bard knew little about Hobbits but he did know that, in many cultures and races, such an act would be done from intense grief or mourning.

“Bilba,” he said, feeling his own inadequacy. “I’m sorry. I--”

“Did you know I saw my brother get eaten by a Troll?”

Her voice was soft, her eyes focused on the ground. She sounded utterly exhausted and there was a slump to her shoulders, a slight sway in her body as though she barely had the strength to hold herself up anymore.

Bard opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again. “No,” he said, finally. “I didn’t.”

She nodded absently before giving him an oddly casual look. “It was my fault.” She said matter of factly. “I should have been paying attention.” Her eyes cut away again. “But I was distracted.”

“How old were you?”

“Does it matter?” She was silent for a time before continuing in a voice so low he almost didn’t hear her. “Older than he’ll ever get a chance to be.”

Bard floundered, wondering what he could possibly say to help her. “Why were you distracted?”

She gave him a sick grin. “I was watching my father being murdered.”

He flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“I got revenge. It took longer than I would have liked but I got it.”

“I’m glad.”

She shrugged. “My mother was injured too,” she continued, her voice holding an oddly dreamlike quality. Bard wondered if she was even fully aware of where she was or what was going on. She adjusted her hands, still holding the ring in one, the chain tangled about her fingers. She rested that hand lightly on the blade of the knife, the other hand gripping the hilt so hard her knuckles were white. “We made it to a cave next to where the Trolls lived.” She hesitated. “She could have made it had she wanted.” She raised her head and met Bard’s eyes. “But she didn’t.”

Bard carefully edged around the small space until he could crouch down on his heels next to her. “I am sorry,” he repeated, unsure of what else he could say.

“She was in pain,” Bilba continued. She nodded, chewed absently on her lower lip and took a deep, shaky breath. Almost to herself she said, “I understand that.” She met his eyes. “But she should have fought. I was still alive and I needed her. She left me alone in the wild with nothing but her and my father’s corpses for company.”

“How did you get back?” Bard asked.

“To this day I’m not entirely sure,” Bilba answered. “It almost felt like someone was with me, guiding me. I was only on my own for a short time before running into a pair of Rangers riding on a circuit. They escorted me the rest of the way home.”

“Your mother was wrong,” Bard stated, his tone sure. He knew well enough the pain she spoke of, he’d felt it himself when his wife had died. It had felt as though his heart had been cut out of his chest. Every breath had been sheer agony, the mere act of getting out of bed in the morning a monumental task.

But he’d done it. His children had needed him.

“You needed her,” he continued. “She should have fought.”

“I can remember the journey home now.” Bilba looked up at him and Bard saw an odd light in her eyes that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. It was small, the barest flicker in the depths, but it was there. “I remember thinking that, if I ever had children, I would be better. I wouldn’t leave them when they needed me. I wouldn’t give up.”

Her eyes hardened. She untangled the ring and chain and very carefully laid it down with the braid on top of her shorn locks of hair. Then she stood, her hand still clutching the knife.

“I promised myself I would not be my mother.” She raised her chin, features hard. “And I will keep that promise.”

And, with that, she marched out, leaving the hair, braid and ring behind her.

She did not look back.

 

***

 

Bard followed her a few moments later, stepping out into chaos.

He saw no sign of Bilba but elves and men ran about shouting orders. Several ran by with piles of weapons and armor in their arms.

Bard grabbed the arm of the nearest man, stopping him. “What is it? What’s going on?”

The man stopped, breathless, his eyes wide. “Gandalf the Gray and two others have arrived.”

Bard felt an intense surge of reflief. Gandalf. Surely he would be able to reach the fool under the mountain and make him see sense. “That’s wonderful news! Why the panic?”

Fear clouded the man’s eyes. “It is not his arrival that causes panic but the news he carries with him.”

Bard felt a chill run through him. “And what news is that?”

“The wizard reports an army marches on us, from Mordor.”

“What?” Bard said, his shock so great his mind nearly couldn’t comprehend what the man said, “Why? What reason would Mordor have to attack us?”

“I do not know,” the man answered, “only that they are coming.”

Bard shook his head, still stunned. “How many?”

“At least a thousand, perhaps more.”

Shock rattled through him. “I don’t understand this. Who leads them? Who would possibly have a desire, and the means, to raise such an army against us?”

The man opened his mouth spoke words that utterly froze the marrow in Bard’s very bones.

“The wizard claims it's the Witch King of Angmar.”

Bard gaped. "That's--" he stumbled, "that's...but if that's true it means..."

The man nodded. "If it's true it can only mean one thing. The Dark Lord himself has returned, and means to destroy us all."

He left and Bard stayed, rooted to the spot. Almost against his will he turned his head in the direction of Mordor, his heart near to fainting inside his chest, one, hushed word up on his lips.

"Sauron."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien has a clear break between Hobbit and LOTR but that's because they happen 60 years apart and with two different casts of characters, more or less. Mine both take place with no break and with the same cast of characters so it makes sense LOTR would start bleeding into Hobbit at some point. Hence, the Witchking. My version of LOTR will be shorter than Part 1 of Homeward Bound, at least it is in my head, we'll see what happens. 
> 
> Next Chapter: BOFA: Mordor Style. :)
> 
> Note on goldsickness: the way I've interpreted it is pretty much what Thranduil says, it takes what you already have and makes it worse. Thorin, quite understandably, has a LOT of problems that he's accumulated over his long, long lifespan. He's had a LOT of tragedy and that, in turn, has given him serious baggage. This baggage did not magically go away when he met Bilba. He also did not magically get over his lifelong desire to restore Erebor when he met Bilba. I've never been a fan of the trope you sometimes see where relationships somehow heal all wounds. Sometimes relationships can help heal wounds but not always and certainly not quickly (and CERTAINLY not quickly when they're wounds accumulated over a lifetime).  
> SO, Thorin has issues (Bilba does too but she's not affected by gold sickness) and the dwarven ring of power happily amplified them. Where Thorin might originally have felt anger he now feels rage, where he might have felt mistrust or betrayal he now feels paranoia, where he might have worried about the gold he's now possessive and greedy, where he may have been prideful he's now blind to reason and where he would have been distrustful of the elves and men he's now into the "outsiders want my gold and Bilba is an outsider/foreigner/not dwarf so SHE must be in league against me too!" levels of irrational paranoia. Of course he doesn't trust the dwarves either so he's basically just irrational, as everyone but he can see. 
> 
> I never really got gold sickness in canon. Tolkien seems to have it as greed combined with the dwarven ring of power but that doesn't explain why the other dwarves got sick and it also doesn't explain why Fili, Kili and Bombur DIDN'T get sick. Peter Jackson seems to be going the route that the Arkenstone is causing it (as evidence by Smaug's - I'm almost tempted to let you take it speech) SO, this is my interpretation. The others in the Company are pretty much going along with it out of sheer loyalty or their own "we really need this money, let's not piss off the King/he could have us exiled/executed/my family could be in danger", there are many, many reasons. Anyhoo, that's the cliffnotes on it. I hope I did a good enough job of explaining it. It makes sense in my head at least! As my beta said, there's a thread of logic to Thorin's beliefs and arguments and that, to me, is what the ring has done (and what Thranduil said it did) - it took logic and logical reactions (based on Thorin's history and personality) and amplified them into the realm of the irrational/paranoid/enraged.


	46. Chapter 46

Kili almost walked right past her.

The camp was in chaos as word of the approaching orc army spread. Humans and elves rushed about gathering weapons and forming strategies, all petty fights over gold or stung pride forgotten. Kili glanced briefly at Erebor looming over them and wondered if anyone had thought to send word to his Uncle. Would it be enough to snap him out of his madness?

A chill breeze darted past him and he scowled. The dress Bilba was wearing wasn’t anywhere near what she needed to fight against the weather. Overhead the dark clouds hung thick, darker than anything he’d seen. Bursts of early winter rain, carried by the wind, splattered against his face on occasion, promising the weather would only get worse.

A pile of crates and other supplies drew his attention and he felt a surge of relief as he saw Bilba sitting on the top of a box. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, which were drawn up with the skirt of the dress pulled down over her feet.

He thought she'd simply pulled her hair back at first. Then, as he drew nearer, he saw the short, haphazard strands, cut in jagged, uneven swathes as though done with a dull knife.

The realization she'd cut off her hair hit him like a physical blow. In dwarven culture losing your beard or hair was the highest dishonor. To do it to yourself, however, indicated a feeling of profound shame to the extent you no longer felt worthy of being considered a member of your own race.

He swallowed down a suddenly dry throat and headed over, wishing desperately as he did that Fili had come with him and hadn't, instead, elected to stay behind and yell at Thranduil some more. As he drew nearer he noticed the pale cast to her skin, the way she hugged herself close, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. Kili cursed mentally and pulled off the long coat he’d found in the Treasury. He should have given it to her as soon as they'd left the mountain, he berated himself mentally. No doubt Fili, or Uncle in his right mind, would have done so long ago.

She started when he draped the coat over her shoulders, her eyes tearing away from whatever she’d been looking at. Then she gave him a weak smile and slid her arms into the sleeves, pulling the coat around her. Kili sat next to her as she did, helping her arrange it to her liking. Once it was on, to his surprise, she wrapped both arms around his bicep, pulled herself tight against his side and promptly sagged as if all her energy had fled. Her eyes drifted off to the left again though Kili couldn’t see anything in that direction worth looking at aside from Erebor.

They sat in silence. Around them the camp was still in chaos. Overhead bad weather threatened but, right there and then, it seemed as if they sat in a small oasis of peace, separated from the insanity the rest of the world had fallen into.

“So, uh--” Kili started finally. “You cut your hair.” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Good job, Kili, he mentally lamented, that was well said. No wonder Uncle and Fili always do the talking.

“It was in the way,” Bilba said. She gave him a rueful look. “It was part of my new outlook on life, right up until I walked out and discovered an army of orcs was marching on us.”

She leaned against him with a sigh, her eyes drifting away again.

The quiet dragged on once more as Kili struggled with what else to say. He was used to having Fili or Uncle by his side. Back home they were always the ones dealing with the day to day problems. They would work out alliances, deal with squabbles and make sure there was enough food for the long winter. Often they would be gone for months at a time to find work while Kili was left behind with his mother, too young to go with them.

Convincing Uncle to let him go on this quest had been huge. A way to prove he wasn’t just the baby. He was an adult in his own right, capable of making his own choices and decisions.

Instead he was afraid he may have just proven them right in the end. What had he done anyway? He’d helped with the trolls but it had been Bilba who’d avoided being captured and who’d rescued him and Uncle. The dragon had been Bilba’s idea as well, a bad one he could see now in retrospect, even if it had worked. Had they gone in together, or with even just a few more, they would have stood a better chance of distracting the dragon long enough to avoid nearly being roasted to death. Not to mention that he and Bilba were the least experienced in warfare and tactics and had gone in barely knowing the layout of Erebor, or only knowing it from old maps he and Fili had studied as a child. They’d had access to people like Uncle and Dwalin, both of whom had actually lived in Erebor for years and had fought at the battle of Moria. Together the two of them possessed a wealth of knowledge and experience that, had they used it, could well have prevented him and Bilba being locked in the Treasury and her having to go through the horror of believing she’d lost her children.

Granted, it was always possible it would have made little difference but one of the things his and Fili’s instructors had always drilled into them was the importance of using every advantage in battle and he had neglected two huge ones in the form of his Uncle, Dwalin and others who’d lived in Erebor and fought at Moria and in countless other battles.

He hadn’t come up with a single original idea yet, had bungled the few he'd been involved with, had failed to contribute even once on his own without someone else being the one to do most of the work. He’d say it was his lack of experience except Bilba was less experienced than he was and always seemed to know exactly what to do. In every situation she made split second decisions that always seemed to work. She’d saved them time and time again, saved Uncle directly at least twice. It was the reason he’d followed her so readily into the mountain. She always seemed to know what she was doing. He didn’t question.

He huffed in annoyance at himself.

After all his protestations and demands to be treated like an adult he was still following behind like a child desperate to prove he could keep up.

“I'm still pregnant. ” Bilba’s voice was quiet, with just the slightest hesitation in it.

The words took a few seconds to register and Kili felt her arms tighten around his arm.

Intense relief followed by an equal amount of joy flooded him as the words finally got through. Kili jerked around, pulled his arm free and hugged her. “Bilba, that’s wonderful!”

She shrieked in surprise, drawing a few curious looks from those still running about, then laughed and hugged him back.

“That’s wonderful!” Kili repeated, smiling uncontrollably. At the same time it felt as though a massive boulder had lifted off his shoulders. The day seemed a little brighter, the cold less sharp.

Bilba pulled back, suddenly shy. Her eyes cut left again and then came back to his. “I suppose I should have known. Any child of Thorin’s is likely to be every bit as stubborn as he is.”

Kili snorted. “Not to mention the tenacity of the Baggins line.”

“Oh, no,” Bilba said, her voice mock serious, the slightest ghost of a smile on her lips, “the Baggins line is entirely respectable I assure you. It’s the Took half that keeps getting me in trouble.”

“Just think,” Kili replied, matching her tone, “half Uncle and half Took.”

Bilba’s eyes widened. “And there’s two of them,” she whispered. “I’m not sure Middle Earth will survive.”

Kili felt his heart soar at her confirmation that not only was she still pregnant but that both babies had survived their ordeal in the Treasury. “Maybe you’ll be lucky and they’ll both be girls,” he offered, “that should be at least a little easier.”

Bilba was already shaking her head, her eyes trained to the left again. “No,” she said, distracted, “they’re boys. Don’t ask me how I know. I can’t explain it myself.” She looked to him and chewed on her lower lip. “It’s strange but it’s almost like I’ve met them before, somehow.”

Kili shifted, the hard edge of the box he sat on cutting off the circulation in his legs. “Do you know how long it’ll be until you actually meet them?”

“No,” Bilba answered. She leaned against him again, idly sliding her hand down to intertwine her fingers with his. “I’m five months now. If the babies were hobbits I’d have another seven months. The healer said I was too small to be that far along though, especially since I’m expecting twins.”

She stopped speaking for a moment and Kili felt her fingers tighten on his arm. He frowned in concern, reaching with his free hand to put it over the one still wrapped around his bicep. “Bilba?”

She let out a huff of air, eyes distant. “The healer thinks it’ll be closer to a mix, maybe eighteen or so months in total but there’s no way to know for sure.”

Eighteen months, Kili thought. If it were accurate it meant she still had thirteen months to go. He supposed that would explain why she was still so small. He wouldn’t even have suspected she was pregnant if she hadn’t told him.

Her eyes were distant again and he followed her gaze toward Erebor. With a start he realized she was looking toward the path they’d taken when Uncle had thrown them out of the mountain, leading down from what was currently the only accessible entrance or exit.

Kili felt his gut twist with understanding. Bilba looked back toward him and he quickly tried to blank out his expression. He clearly wasn’t fast enough, however, as she went red and looked down.

She released his arm and idly started picking at the fabric of her dress. “I keep thinking,” she said, her voice a mere whisper, “he must have heard by now, you know? That there’s an entire army marching on us and I keep thinking…” she trailed off and was silent a few seconds before starting again. “I just keeping thinking ‘surely this will wake him up. He’ll realize we’re in danger and it’ll get through to him’”. She lifted her head and turned her eyes toward the mountain once more. “I keep waiting for him to come for us…for me.”

Kili’s heart twisted at the pain in her voice and the anger he felt toward his uncle increased. Yes, he believed that his uncle was being influenced by the ring, an influence that continued even after Fili had convinced him to hand it over. Still, it was just that, influence. His uncle wasn't being forced to do anything, just influenced. He, Fili and Bilba had all tried to get through to him; Fili more than once. The fact was his uncle simply was not listening, his pride and stubbornness refusing to allow him to see the truth.

He could handle the pain of his uncle banishing him but forgiveness would be a long time coming for how he’d treated Bilba.

And that went for the rest of the Company as well. Whatever their reasons, and he couldn’t begin to fathom them, the basic fact was not one of them had stood up to his uncle. It was obvious Uncle was not himself; that he was making irrational decisions and yet not one had stood up with him and Fili to argue with him.

Not one had stood up to protect Bilba.

Bilba had gone back to watching the mountain and he shifted to wrap an arm across her shoulders. “I’m sure he’ll send someone,” he said, “he probably just hasn’t heard yet.” His gut clenched slightly as he said it. He had no doubt his uncle had heard. An army of orcs from Mordor, led by a nightmare from legends he’d read as a child. He and Fili were trained and had been on countless escort missions but they’d never been in a true battle. Bilba had barely ever fought at all, her background one of leisure and comfort.

All three of them would be in mortal peril in the upcoming battle. He had no problem with fighting and he knew Fili didn’t either.

He had a deep problem with Bilba fighting, particularly in her condition. The safest place for her would be inside Erebor.

Except she had been banished from there and no one was forthcoming to lift that banishment in face of the oncoming battle.

Would his uncle truly allow Bilba to face the orcs and the leader of the ancient Nazgul?

Would he truly allow her to die?

If he did…if it was his pride and stubbornness…Kili wasn’t sure he would ever speak to him again.

Bilba shifted suddenly, drawing closer to him. “Kili?”

He turned and rested his chin lightly on the top her head. “Yeah?”

Her eyes studied the mountain, so intense he wondered if she was trying to see through the rock, inside to where his fool Uncle and the rest of the Company sat while the world fell to ruin.

“Can I ask you something really selfish?”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll stay with me.”

She was doing it again, Kili thought, treating him like an equal as though the thought to do otherwise never crossed her mind. She never questioned his abilities, never told him he was too young, never asked where Fili was so she could see what he thought.

She simply accepted him, exactly as he was.

“I swear it,” he said without hesitation.

She relaxed and Kili felt a near irrational sense of loyalty to her.

At that moment he’d have followed her into the fires of Mordor had she asked, and gladly.

 


	47. Chapter 47

Bilba sighed and dragged her eyes away from Erebor.

She was being pathetic.

So much for grand gestures and declarations of being better than her mother.

“Where’s Fili?”

“Still yelling at Thranduil last I saw,” Kili replied. He pulled away from her and frowned. “We need to work on getting you away from here.” His eyes flickered toward the mountain, narrowed, and Bilba knew he was thinking the same thing. Thorin must know about the oncoming army yet he seemed perfectly willing to let her, Fili and Kili stay in the camps.

For the first time the tiniest seed of doubt lodged itself firmly in her heart. She’d been hanging on to Fili’s and Kili’s insistence that Thorin would come around, that he just needed to cool down or just needed a shock and he’d recover and realize what he’d done.

He’d had time to cool now and the news of an army of orcs was a shock by any definition.

What if he’d never been sick at all? What if it hadn’t been the ring?

What if it had just been Thorin?

Kili shifted beside her suddenly, breaking into her train of thought. “Come on,” he said. He slid off the crate and pulled her after him. “If we can’t go back inside Erebor the second safest place is Mirkwood.”

“Mirkwood?” Bilba asked in surprise. “Are you forgetting the giant spiders?”

He smiled. “We’ll just have to be sure to avoid those,” he said flippantly. “It’ll be fine.”

Bilba rolled her eyes at him but found herself smiling just the same. It was one of the things she loved about Kili. He was always so optimistic and carefree. No matter what they faced he had a smile on his face and confidence in his step.

“Alright,” she said. He crooked an arm, exaggerating his gallantry, and she laughed and slid a hand around his bicep, lightly grabbing his arm with her other hand as well.

They walked through the camp together, sidestepping rushing figures, silent in face of the panic and noise of preparation.

“Will Dain arrive in time?” Bilba asked as they sidestepped a pile of boxes, many turned over on their sides and spilling their contents. The camp was large and had been set up to face down the dwarves, and any reinforcements they might bring, inside the mountain. It would take days to reconfigure it to face an army coming from behind them.

Kili nodded. “He should arrive in about two days. The orcs will arrive about two days after that.” He frowned, considering. “I was wondering…what if we sent word to Thorin about your--” he waved a hand in the general direction of her stomach. “Maybe it would get him to allow you inside Erebor at least?”

Bilba felt her gut clench with dread. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “With the way he’s acting--” she chewed on her lower lip, “he declared me a traitor and banished all three of us and he’s angry enough that he doesn’t care if we're at risk dying in a battle. How would he react if he found out I was carrying his sons?” She stopped and looked at him. “Would it reach him? Maybe. Or maybe he’d throw me in a dungeon until I had them, take them from me and cast me out of the mountain.”

Kili blanched, actually jerking his head back as though struck. “I don’t think--”

“The Thorin we know would never do that,” Bilba said. “I don’t know about this one though.” She turned her eyes to the mountain, looming over them. The clouds had lowered until they nearly touched the peak and the darkness of the day cast it in shadow, making the lifeless rock appear menacing. “Thorin is a king,” Bilba continued, never taking her eyes off the last kingdom of the dwarves. “What chance would I possibly have against him if he decided to take his children?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Kili insisted. “Fili and I would stop him.”

“You’ve been banished the same as I have,” Bilba replied. “By what authority would you stop him?”

Kili’s eyes widened and he stumbled for words. “No one would stand for it,” he said, halfheartedly. He frowned suddenly, "Wait, how did you know Fili and I were banished?"

"That's what you were talking about before we left, wasn't it?" Bilba said, "Thorin told Fili if you and he left the mountain with me then you would be banished too, right?" When Kili gave no answer she nodded. "It seemed like something he would do. The him that's in there now that is."

Kili swallowed. So much for his and Fili's ability to hide things from her. "Even so," he repeated. "No one would stand for it."

Bilba gave him a patient look. “They stood well enough for us being banished. They're standing for us remaining out here now.” The words twisted in her gut as she spoke them. She’d believed herself to be a part of the Company. They’d become her family and she, foolishly, had thought they felt the same.

Though a large part of her still stubbornly believed it was all just a misunderstanding, that any minute now they would come for her and the boys, another part was informing her she’d been a fool, misguided, deluded…wrong.

And as much as it grieved her, as much as she fought to ignore it, that part of her spirit was steadily growing louder with every passing second.

They had reached Thranduil’s tent and she felt a flash of relief that she could set the conversation aside for the moment.

The guard stationed outside the entrance to the tent was the same one who’d grabbed her. He immediately stepped forward and dropped to one knee, his hands coming out to lay over hers where she held Kili’s arm.

“My Lady,” the elf said, his eyes locked on her, “I wanted to offer my deepest apologies. I had no idea--”

“I know you didn’t,” Bilba said, “so there’s nothing to forgive. No harm was done.”

"Aside from the part where you manhandled her at all," Kili muttered, his eyes dark.

Bilba not-so-subtly stomped on his foot, ignored his yelp and kept grinning. They were about to ask the elves for refuge after all, best to be nice.

The relief on the elf’s face was almost palpable. He stood up and nodded toward the tent. “Your brother is still in there,” he addressed Kili, “as are Gandalf, Glorfindel and the human who traveled with them.”

Bilba felt her spirits rise. “Gandalf and Glorfindel are here?” She let go of Kili’s arm and rushed past them into the tent.

Inside she found Fili leaning against a support pole near the entrance, arms folded over his chest and an annoyed look on his face.

Thranduil stood in the center in a deep discussion with Gandalf. Next to him, as promised, stood Glorfindel and next to him…Bilba felt her eyes widen as she recognized the young man she’d spoken to back in Rivendell, now so far in the past as to be another lifetime.

She started to step forward but a hand closed gently around her bicep and pulled her back. She turned to see Fili studying her, the anger gone from his face to be replaced with a mixture of shock and concern. His eyes, she noticed, were locked not on her face but on her hair, or what was left of it.

“Are you alright?” His eyes were locked on her head. “Your hair--who?”

"I did it to myself." Bilba ran a hand over it self-consciously. She’d cut it in a moment of depression and pique, desperate to give create some distance from the events of the previous hours, even if it was a false distance. Now she gave Fili a tight nod and smiled. “I’m fine,” she said, keeping her voice low.

He opened his mouth to say more but, before he could, Gandalf’s voice broke out behind her. “Bilba Baggins. There you are!”

Bilba turned to see Gandalf headed toward her. An intense happiness flooded her and, before she knew it, she’d run forward to meet him. He dropped to his knees just before she reached him so she was able to throw her arms around him and bury her face against his neck, inhaling the scent of pipe tobacco and an earthy tone that reminded her so strongly of the Shire it brought a pang of home sickness. His arms wrapped around her and she sighed, relaxing against him. As much as she’d lashed out at him in the past, a fact she deeply regretted, she’d never doubted his friendship.

She drew back, locking her eyes on his. “Gandalf, something is wrong with Thorin. Please, can you help him?”

He sighed and she saw in his weathered features a deep exhaustion she’d never noticed before. It unsettled her, creating a roiling sense of anxiety in her gut that wouldn't calm.

“I shall do my best,” he said simply. Bilba studied him and knew, without a doubt, there was so, so much more to say. So much more looming on the horizon, so much more than just a possibly mad King but still he promised her.

Because Gandalf was a healer. He wanted to save everyone, help everyone, even when it wasn’t physically possible.

Bilba threw her arms around him again, clinging to him as though she could just stay there in peace and not have to face all she knew lay before her.

Footsteps sounded and she felt a presence near her. She lifted her head to see…Aragorn, that was his name she remembered, kneeling before her. He looked travel weary and worn but there was a quiet strength to him, a bearing that, oddly enough, reminded her of Thorin.

“My Lady,” he said, dipping his head slightly in greeting. He grinned at her. "I see you're trying out a new look."

Bilba smiled back. "Haven't you heard?" She ran a hand over the short strands on her head. "It's all the rage nowadays, the new trend."

"Indeed," he mused. "I'll have to mention that to a certain young woman I know the next time I see her. I'm sure she'll be quite interested."

Bilba pulled away completely from Gandalf, who hadn't given any comment on her hair though she didn't doubt he'd noticed, and curtsied, thinking how ridiculous she must look in her oversized coat and dress, hair shorn to mere stubble on her head. “My Lord Aragorn,” she said formally, “it’s a pleasure to meet you again. If I may ask, what brings you here?”

“I came with Gandalf,” he explained. “I found out what your quest was and wanted to see what had happened to the small Hobbit lass I’d met. On the way we met Glorfindel returning to warn us of the movements of Mordor. He turned with us and we came together.”

“Well,” Bilba said, “the circumstances may not be the best but it is a pleasure to meet you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied instantly. “I wanted to let you know I delivered your letters safely to the Shire as you requested.”

It took a second for Bilba to remember what he was talking about. It seemed ages ago she’d written those letters. In fact the Shire itself seemed a lifetime ago. Looking back on it was almost as though she were viewing someone else’s life.

She tried to remember what she'd written and grinned ruefully. Though the words were murky in her mind she had no doubt they'd been full of naivety and foolish optimism, two descriptors she'd put long since set aside and with no regret. “I imagine none of the letters went over that well did they?”

He returned her smile. “Not entirely, though Seth and Priscilla seemed nothing but worried about you.”

Bilba nodded. She owed them both an apology. They’d effectively taken over raising her after her parent’s deaths. She’d grown up alongside their sons, eaten at their table and leaving them without a word of explanation had been both cruel and immature.

She just hoped she’d have a chance to make it up to them.

Aragorn reached in his pack and came out with something. “After meeting your grandfather,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving your property with him.” He frowned and reached out to place her parent’s rings and Bungo’s doll into her hands. “I hope I did the right thing. I feared if I gave them to the Thain you might well never see them again.”

“That angry, was he?” Bilba asked. He didn’t answer. She didn’t need him too. She studied the rings and the small doll, running a hand lightly over the cool metal and thin fabric before tucking them carefully into a pocket of the coat. “Thank you,” she said, lifting her eyes to Aragorn. “I appreciate it.”

He nodded.

A hand landed lightly on her head, running over the shorn strands. Bilba looked up to see Glorfindel standing over her. “I see you took what I said to the extreme,” he remarked dryly.”

“I’ve been told I’m a pretty extreme person,” Bilba responded. “And you never know when you might run into a Balrog with a hair fetish.”

Glorfindel snorted in amusement.

Someone cleared their throat and Bilba saw Fili step up next to her. Kili was next to him and Bilba imagined he’d been filling his brother in on everything he’d missed since Kili had left the tent. She managed to catch Fili’s eye.

 _Please don’t tell._ It was pretty obvious Gandalf, Aragorn and Glorfindel didn’t know about her pregnancy and she’d prefer to keep it that way. The fewer that knew the longer it would take to get to Thorin. She had no doubt he would find out eventually but she hoped it might be after he’d recovered…or after her sons were born and grown enough to look after themselves.

Her stomach twisted again at the thought. It would mean she’d been left behind by her family…again.

Fili gave her a dry look in response. _As if I would._

Bilba smiled. _Thank you._

He gave a lopsided grin and refocused on Thranduil who’d been standing back while the others greeted Bilba. He raised an eyebrow at her now. “You seem to have made some rather…interesting friends along your journey.”

Bilba shrugged. Gandalf had already been her friend. Aragorn she’d met by chance and Thranduil already knew she’d met Glorfindel.

“We wanted to ask if she could be escorted to Mirkwood,” Fili cut in, drawing his attention. “It won’t be safe for her here once the army arrives.”

Gandalf frowned. “Why can’t she go to Erebor?”

Fili sighed. “It’s as I was telling you. Uncle is not himself. He’s banished the three of us and, even with news of the army advancing, shows no sign of relenting.”

Thranduil said something unflattering under his breath and Bilba barely kept herself from responding. The last thing she needed was to annoy the elf and miss out on her chances of getting to safety. She had her unborn children to think about. She couldn’t afford to be as reckless as she’d once been.

There was a muscle jumping in Fili’s jaw and Kili’s eyes were narrowed but they too managed to refrain from saying anything.

Gandalf muttered something. “We don’t have time for this. If you’ll excuse me I’ll go try to knock some sense into the King under the Mountain’s head, before it’s too late.”

With that he stormed out. Bilba’s heart swelled with hope at the sight. Surely Gandalf would reach him and it would be alright.

Thranduil spoke up again. “I will send my own escort with you, to ensure your safe passage to my palace.”

It was a surprising gesture. It occurred to her that he hadn’t mentioned her pregnancy either, though he owed her nothing. Bilba nodded at him. Thranduil might be many things but he wasn’t a monster and she felt her estimation of him rise.

“Thank you,” she said, “I--”

A commotion arose outside the tent and, a moment later, Bard stormed in. Bilba was startled at the change in the man’s appearance since she’d last seen him a short time earlier. His hair was wild and in disarray, his weapons appeared hastily slung on and he was out of breath and harried.

“Your Majesty,” he addressed Thranduil, “I need you to take control of the men I brought with me from Lake-town.”

Aragorn frowned from where he’d been standing near Glorfindel.”The men follow you, Lord Bard, from what I hear. Why would you turn over your leadership now?”

“The route the orcs take will send them straight through Lake-town and it is unlikely anyone there knows they are coming,” Bard said. He took a deep breath. “My children are among them. I have to go. I have to get my children and warn the rest of the town.”

Bilba tensed, her mind going to the quiet little girl who’d crawled through her window and the older girl who’d stormed a house full of dwarves to save her.

Thranduil frowned. “You cannot go. I have enough with my own army. I cannot be in command of yours as well.”

Bard looked panicked. He turned toward Aragorn. “Then you can do it. Please. I must get my children and return.”

Aragorn was shaking his head, his expression grim. “Your men don’t know me and I don’t know them. I also don’t know this area. There’s no way I could possibly lead them effectively or prepare them for the battle. They would be left at a great disadvantage.”

Glorfindel spoke before Bard could face him. “I’m planning on leaving immediately. If the Witch King of Angmar truly leads the army I’m the best chance at facing him for the moment.”

Bilba started at that news. He planned to go personally take on the Witch King? She had no chance to further contemplate it as she saw despair wash over Bard’s face and felt her heart go out to him. He must feel torn in two. On the one hand the men who were there had come on his account and under his leadership. On the other hand, however, his children were alone and without protection with an army of orcs advancing on them.

“I’ll go.” The words came out before she’d fully thought them out but they were more than loud enough to instantly have the attention of everyone in the tent.

“No,” Fili said instantly. “Bilba…no.”

“It takes two days to get to Lake-town, we’ll have plenty of time,” Bilba argued, turning to face him. “the orcs won’t arrive for four days. We should be able to get there with no problem, warn the others, get Bard’s children and, if we hurry, cut straight across into Mirkwood long before the orcs arrive.”

“I cannot in good conscience ask you to go,” Bard said, his voice hoarse, “not when--”

“You’re not asking,” Bilba cut him off, a warning in her eyes. “I’m offering. It’s the best strategy and you know it.”

“I’ll go with her,” Aragorn said suddenly. “You have no need of me immediately. I can see her and the residents of Lake-town safely to the edge of Mirkwood and return in time for the battle.”

“I’ll go too,” Kili said instantly. He grinned at her. “After all, I promised didn’t I?”

Fili rolled his eyes. “Mahal, you’re both insane.” He sighed. “Fine, but I’m going as well.”

Bilba looked at Bard again. “See? I’ll have plenty of protection. We’ll save the people in your town and then seek safety in Mirkwood.”

“What about your illness?” Bard said. “You could barely walk in Lake-town the last time.”

Bilba shrugged. “I’ll wait on the shore while Fili and Kili go in.”

Bard studied her, clearly struggling. As he spoke Aragorn moved quietly until he stood behind Bilba. Fili and Kili flanked her, leaving her in a protected semi-circle.

“Thank you,” Bard said finally. “Thank you.” He dropped to one knee in front of her and grabbed her hands. “May Eru himself speed you on your way.”

Bilba nodded. She took a deep breath, let it out and then turned to face Fili, Kili and Aragorn.

“Alright. If this is going to work we better leave now.”

 


	48. Chapter 48

Dain arrived two days later along with his army. Thorin and the rest of his Company were able to open a small part of the front gate allowing them to walk straight in the front door of Erebor. A massive pathway was opened up through the center of camp to allow them to pass. The elves and men gathered along both sides, watching in complete silence as the dwarves passed, the only sound the clinking of the tack on their ponies and the sound of their armor and mail.

Thorin stood on the battlements over Erebor and waited for his cousin to join him. The ground was wet from intermittent rains, causing mud to splatter up in a thin mist as the dwarves marched in. The temperature had dropped even lower, the stone of the railing he stood against felt like ice against his palms.

Briefly he wondered how Bilba and his nephews were faring but he quickly pushed the thought aside. Any discomfort they suffered was their own doing.

It was the first time he’d been out of the mountain in days. It was the first time he’d been among people too. After he’d banished the traitor and his blinded nephews he’d locked himself in his grandfather’s old rooms and refused all visitors. He’d received word soon after that Gandalf was at the gates demanding entrance but he’d refused to see him. The blasted wizard was the reason he’d had the traitor in his midst. Without his meddling he’d still have his nephews at his side where they belonged.

His heart wouldn’t have been stolen by a thief and a liar.

He’d heard tale of a massive army supposedly on the move from Mordor but he wasn’t fool enough to believe it. Quick on its heels had been the requests to allow refuge in the mountain.

Thorin’s lips turned up in a sneer at the memory. They thought him a fool, that he would gladly open the mountain to them and welcome them in. No doubt their true aim was to take his throne. The story of the army was false, simply a plot to gain access.

He would not be blinded so easily.

The ever present headache still thudded in his temples. He’d grown almost used to its presence. No doubt it was caused by the stress he’d been under as well as having to deal with the cancer that Bilba Baggins had brought to his Company. Even before he’d locked himself in his new chambers he’d seen the looks they had been giving him.

It wasn’t just his nephews she’d poisoned; they had just been deceived more than the rest. No matter, she was gone and soon his nephews would see the light. They would return to him and things would be as they should be. Erebor would be controlled by dwarves once more. They needed no outsiders attempting to tell them what to do, plotting and scheming against him.

His eyes went to the rows and rows of elves and men watching Dain’s army enter the gate. Almost against his will his eyes sought out a small, female form, the dark hair of his youngest heir, the golden blonde of his eldest.

Thorin cursed his own weakness and spun on his heel, stalking back inside and slamming the door behind him.

He went in search of Dain and soon found him standing in the doorway of the Treasury, a grimace on his face. Thorin understood it. The stench of the rotting dragon only seemed to grow day by day. It spread as well, permeating hall by hall until he was convinced he could still smell it dozens of levels away.

“I would celebrate except it might involve heavier breathing,” Dain said dryly as Thorin stepped up next to him.

Thorin grunted in agreement. He hadn’t seen his cousin in many years but not much had changed. Dain was near him in age and had a similar look. He was shorter than Thorin, closer to Dwalin in bulk, with shorter, straight black hair and a longer beard. His eyes were closer to a turquoise than blue but, from a distance, they had sometimes been mistaken for one another.

“It will clear out soon enough,” Thorin said now, studying the rotting carcass from where they stood. “I had thought perhaps your soldiers might help now that you’ve arrived.”

Dain frowned at him. “I can’t spare any, not with the army due to arrive any day now.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “What army?”

“Surely you’ve heard,” Dain’s voice was surprised and Thorin felt himself rankle in annoyance. He couldn’t know everything, king or not.

“I heard tale of an army supposedly marching on this location but dismissed it as treachery,” he growled. “What possible reason would Mordor have for attacking us?”

“I don’t know,” Dain responded, “but it’s no treachery, at least not the way you’re thinking. My spies have confirmed it. There is an army and, from the looks of it, they’ll be here sooner rather than later. My intelligence reports they’ve sped up. We barely made it in time to have any chance of preparing to face them.”

Shock thrummed through him though Thorin refused to show any outward sign of it. The headache faded to little more than a dull ache though his mind still felt oddly clouded as though he'd not slept in days.

“Did you see my nephews?” Thorin asked.

Dain shook his head. “I did not. Dwalin tells me you banished them to the camps, along with the burglar you brought with you.”

“She proved her job title fitting,” Thorin murmured, his mind churning though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “An army truly marches on us from Mordor? For what purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Dain answered. “But they do come, several thousand strong.”

Thorin shook his head. Would the threats to his kingdom never cease?

Unbidden, an image of his nephews and the traitor floated through his head. The voices of his Company joined them. Many of them had come to his chambers, arguing outside the door against what he had done, trying to convince him to allow the traitor back in their midst.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said slowly. He locked eyes with his cousin. “I want you to take some of your dwarves and have them escort Bilba Baggins back to her home.”

Dain stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Why in Durin’s name are you concerning yourself with her any longer? She stole the Arkenstone from you and handed it over to Thranduil of all people! You were far too lenient, Cousin. You should have executed her or imprisoned her at the least.”

“She continues to hold influence over members of my Company,” Thorin argued, “and my nephews. Imprisoning her would have caused problems I didn't feel like dealing with.”

Was it? a voice in his mind asked. Was that why you didn't have her locked up?

Dain was already nodding in understanding. They’d known each other long enough to be in tune with how the other thought. “And you hope getting rid of her might break her influence over them.” He shrugged. “Why not just have her killed then?”

“She has friends in the camps who would not take it kindly,” Thorin said, trying to ignore the way his heart twisted at the thought of her death. “And, as much as it pains me to admit, she saved my life on the way here. It would not be honorable to have her assassinated.”

Dain scowled. “The ones I send will most likely miss the battle. They will not be pleased.”

“They won't be fighting in it regardless. I have no intention of wasting dwarven lives on those who sought to steal Erebor from me almost as soon as it was recovered.” Thorin said. “Have it done.”

"As you wish," Dain said mildly. He started to turn away and then stopped. "Should I find out the strategy they're planning for the army? We could coordinate our forces."

Thorin frowned. "Did you not hear a word I said? We won't be fighting. We'll take refuge in Erebor. The men, elves and orcs will kill one another and save us the trouble."

Dain didn't react, though that was not so unusual. He rarely reacted outwardly, it was one of the things that made him such a master strategist and negotiator. He never gave away what he was thinking.

As he left Thorin turned to survey the Treasury once more, gold glinting at him in massive piles through the open doorway.

_Looks like you didn't need the Arkenstone after all, did you Your Majesty?_

Thorin flinched at the voice in his mind.

It sounded like Bilba.

"It makes no difference," he muttered, vaguely wondering why he was responding to a figment of his imagination. "You couldn't have known how they would react. Stealing the Arkenstone threatened everything."

_It was to save your life._

"Which was not in danger!" Thorin growled. "You didn't like my decision and sought to circumvent it!"

_Your decision made no sense. The choice I made came from the heart._

"Then your heart was wrong," Thorin said, "as was mine."

The imaginary Bilba didn't answer.

Thorin was left alone. With a start he realized he'd somehow moved a dozen or so feet into the Treasury itself. He muttered under his breath and stalked out, past Dwalin standing guard at the door and clearly pretending he hadn't just heard his King talking to himself.

As Thorin strode down the hall it occurred to him he no longer held the same fear that his cousin or any of those with him would attempt to take the throne from him. He frowned and idly put a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples.

And what of Bard and his men? Why had he thrown them out again? Granted, a few had been stealing from him but why had he gone to so drastic a measure as to cast all of them from the mountain and deny them the treasure he’d promised?

An urge built in him to suddenly go with Dain, down to the camps to speak to the men…possibly even his nephews.

An image of Thranduil holding the Arkenstone, smirk planted firmly on his face, rose to mind and, with it, his anger renewed itself. He was a King. He would not lower himself to the same level as the thieves and liars…the traitors in the camps. Let them come to him instead. Let them apologize for their slights against him and maybe, just maybe he would allow them back into his good graces. Except for Bilba of course, she had made her choices. She could live with the consequences.

Balin appeared from around a corner and Thorin stopped as the other dwarf intercepted him. He saw Balin's eyes go toward Dwalin for a brief second and then focused on him. He seemed to radiate disapproval from every pore and Thorin fought against the rise of paranoia that sought to convince him the sons of Fundin were plotting something against him.

“Should we start preparing for the battle?”

“No,” Thorin said shortly. “We shall remain here. Let the orcs sort out our problems for us.”

Balin stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. Behind him, Thorin heard Dwalin shift slightly and start to speak.

Thorin responded by simply stepping around Balin and continuing on his way. He had no need of outside advice. He knew what he was doing. As he passed an open door he saw Nori inside, looking haggard and worn, standing against the wall as though unsure of where to go. Thorin ignored him and kept going, leaving him behind. Dwalin and Balin stayed where they were and were soon out of sight.

Things would be better soon, Thorin told himself firmly. The traitor would be gone. His nephews would return, the Company would see he had been right all along and the orcs would deal with the men and tree huggers outside.

He merely had to be patient a little while longer.

 

***

 

Dain was not pleased.

He stomped down the narrow trail toward the camps, barely registering the small drops of rain being flung at him by the temperamental breeze.

Behind him marched two of his youngest, most inexperienced soldiers. If he was going to face off against an army of orcs the last thing he wanted was to have to give up able bodied dwarves. They were young but would be more than capable of transporting Thorin’s burglar far from Erebor, even if they had to tie her up and drag her.

As he drew closer to the camp Dain tried to imagine what the female looked like. She was experienced enough in the world that Gandalf had chosen her for the quest and Thorin had allowed it. She’d also managed to save Thorin’s life, from Azog no less from what he heard, so she must be large. He’d heard of Hobbits and, though he’d never met one, had always been led to believe they were small and genteel. Perhaps this one was a half breed of some kind though he couldn’t imagine what her other half would be.

No doubt, though, if she’d faced off against Azog she must be a giant among her people, and well trained.

By the same token, however, she was cunning enough to have tricked both Gandalf and Thorin into trusting her. Not to mention manipulating the boys to turn against their own uncle. Dain sneered at the thought, his hands clenching into fists. He hadn’t seen Fili and Kili in years and it galled him to think of the two at the mercy of some witch.

The thought gave him pause. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps she was a wizard as Gandalf was? It would certainly explain her ability to charm her way into the trust of so many who should have been able to withstand her.

They’d reached the encampment and Dain scanned the crowd. Regretfully, he'd been so annoyed at the task he hadn't thought to ask for a description but he had a vague image in his mind of someone the size and musculature of Dwalin with the cunning and craftiness of Nori. Maybe holding a small staff of some kind if she truly were a wizard and had indeed cast a spell over his kin.

He saw no sign of anyone matching that and, with a growl of annoyance, stomped to the tree shagger’s tent. The elf on duty outside allowed him passage after a moment and, with a sharp signal, Dain left his soldiers outside and entered.

Thranduil was leaning over a table inside. An elf enough like him that he had to be a son stood on one side. There was no sign of the wizard, the Halfling traitor or the Princes.

“What do you want, dwarf?” Thranduil said; his voice cold. “Has your King finally come to his senses?”

Dain ignored the jibe. “I’m looking for the Halfling. Where is she?”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed and the elfling looked annoyed. Dain mentally wondered just how far reaching the powers of this Halfling were. Did she have _everyone_ under her control?

“What do you want with her?” the elfling asked and Dain bristled at his tone.

“None of your business, Elf. Now where is she?”

The elfling took a step forward only to be stopped by Thranduil holding up a hand.

“I’m afraid you’ve missed her by quite a margin,” Thranduil said, “she left two days ago, along with the princes.”

Dain cursed. He should have expected she’d prove to be a coward as well as a thief, no doubt fleeing the second she heard of the army. The fact she’d taken the princes was aggravating as well but he couldn’t deny a flash of relief at the notion they would not have to be in the battle. He could always take some of his army and go reclaim the boys after the fight was won.

He turned on his heel to leave only to be stopped by the sound of the elf’s voice behind him.

“Will you be joining us in the coming fight or do you plan to cower in the mountain along with your King?”

It took every ounce of Dain’s willpower to keep from drawing his battle axe and rushing the elf right then and there. Instead he held himself straight and barely turned his head to answer.

“You wouldn’t be in this position had you not attempted to take Erebor from those to whom she rightfully belongs.” He turned back and strode out the door. “Save yourself. The dwarves owe you nothing.”

With that, he left, nodding sharply to his soldiers to follow him.

As he walked back to the mountain he glanced at the sky, looking for the telltale sight of black wings. When Erebor had fallen a number of ravens had been at the Iron Hills and had chosen to stay. Over the years they had slowly developed into a solid colony of their own, independent from those left at the mountain. Dain had created an alliance with them and even now they traveled with his spies to keep watch over the advancing army. When news needed to be relayed one of them would carry it from his spies and back to them.

So far he had heard little. He wasn't sure if he should feel worried or pleased over that fact.

"Sir," one of his soliders spoke up hesitantly, "we couldn't help but hear what you said. Are we really not going to fight?"

Dain waved a hand at him. "Thranduil's an idiot. I just enjoy pissing him off sometimes."

He had every intention of fighting. He had no doubt he could convince his cousin. When they'd been younger Thorin had always followed in his footsteps every time Dain and his father had visited Erebor. He could well remember the happy, carefree little boy, much like Kili in fact from what he remembered of the last time he'd seen the boy, who would follow him around, his blonde brother close behind. Dis was often to be found hiding behind Frerin, peeking out every so often only to dart back again when seen.

She had changed the most. Thorin had grown quiet and brooding. For Dis, hiding had been a luxury no longer available to her. She'd grown up and eventually become every bit the leader Thorin was.

Dain felt his spirits lift even in the face of what the future held. He had missed his cousins and even the threat of the army couldn't take away the joy of getting to see one of them. He understood Thorin's anger at the men and elves over what they'd done but he knew his cousin well enough to know, without a doubt, he would never truly leave them to their fates once the orcs arrived.

Dain would just have to help him see that. They would stand together, as they had always done, and face the oncoming hoard together, proud dwarves of Erebor and the Iron Hills. They would drive the threat from their land and Erebor would be left to rebuild and once again be the shining jewel she had been.

They would fight. Of that he had no doubt.

Thranduil didn’t need to know that though.

Let him be surprised.

 


	49. Chapter 49

Bilba stood on the shore of the lake and watched for her friends to return.

They’d arrived in record time after two days of travel and set up camp on the edge of the lake. Fili and Aragorn had managed to hail a bargeman and had left for the town while Kili and Bilba waited.

It had taken hours for them to return and, when they had, it had only been with Bard’s children and a handful of others. Aragorn had tersely stated that the Master was causing trouble. He had told the people of Lake-town that news of the orcs was false, a trick designed to get them out of the town so the dwarves could attack and hold Lake-town hostage behind them. The claim was ridiculous but, for many, apparently not so ridiculous as claiming a random army marched on them from a supposedly dead and empty land. The result had been a split with well over half siding with the Master who, greedy and corrupt as he was, was still more trusted than a strange man and a dwarf who’d snuck out of the town with his friends.

That had been over a day ago. Refusing to simply abandon the rest of the town Aragorn and Fili had returned several times. Currently those who had chosen to come were huddled just behind where Bilba stood. There were at least fifty but that represented only a portion of the residents of Lake-town.

Bilba chewed on her lower lip. Fog lay over the area, especially thick on the lake, the sun not yet up enough to break it. Through it she could see the vague shape of the barge returning, little more than a dark shadow on the water.

She would like to say the morning was quiet aside from the sound of morning birds and the patter of a light rain.

The birds were silent, however, and she couldn’t hear the rain.

That morning they’d awakened to the sound of horns and the vibration of boots shaking the earth.

The army was early.

The barge was a little over halfway across. Behind them Bilba began to see the flicker of fire through the fog, the sharp, acrid scent of smoke reaching her nostrils.

The first scream, sharp and quickly silenced, startled her. She clutched her oversized coat tighter around her, her eyes fixed on the blurry shape of the barge.

Another scream rang out, followed by another and another still. The fog began to grow black and the flickering changed into sharp tongues of fire, reaching high into the sky.

Behind them a murmuring and restlessness had started. Bilba had tried to get them to head toward Mirkwood immediately but most had refused, either still not entirely convinced or desperately hoping friends and loved ones would follow.

Kili shifted closer to her. “They’re coming around the edges of the lake.”

Bilba shook her head. More screams came from Lake-town, a cacophony of tortured wails and she choked back a sob at the sounds of suffering. Her fingers curled into a fist, beating lightly against her leg as she mentally raged against her own impotence.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice catching. “They can’t cross from Lake-town, there aren’t enough ships. It’s faster to walk around the lake. Why are they doing this?”

“Because they can,” Kili said simply. His own expression was grim, one hand clenching the hilt of his sword as though he longed to draw it and use it to lop off the heads of the orcs attacking Lake-town. He glanced toward the people behind them and then at her. “The fog is burning off, Bilba. They’ll see us soon.”

“They’re almost here,” Bilba said, nodding toward the barge. Indeed it had grown close enough she could make out the sight of Fili, grim and stiff, standing at the helm.

Kili ran forward, splashing into the water regardless of the chill. Bilba waded in a short way behind him, wincing at the bite of the water against her ankles. She didn't dare go farther, sure water that cold probably wouldn't be good for her unborn children. The barge drew even nearer and Bilba could see it was crowded with people, the last survivors of Lake-town. Most of children and a few adults were crying, the rest standing tense and pale.

Aragorn appeared from somewhere on the barge and, as Bilba watched, Kili helped them come in and they quickly began to disembark.

Fili jumped over the side, landing with a splash in water that quickly lapped up to his ankles. His attention was to the left and he held his sword in one hand.

Bilba followed his gaze and felt her heart freeze in her chest at the sight of the fog lifting in that area, quicker than in the rest. Already she could make out the distant shape of black dots scurrying over the ground, locusts devouring all in their path.

“They’ll be coming from the other side as well,” Fili said sharply, reaching up to help a young child down.

Several of the Lake-town residents already on the shore moved in to help. Bilba was gratified to see they were all silent and focused, even the children. It occurred to her that, living out so far as they did, they were probably used to self-reliance and, above anything, understood the need to put off fear and panic, and even grief at times, to focus on survival.

A few dozen in total came out of the barge to join those on shore.

“This is all of them?” Kili asked in disbelief.

Aragorn answered, his eyes dark. “That fool Master managed to convince a great number we were not to be trusted. By the time they realized the truth we'd left and there was no way to go back.”

“He paid for his folly,” Fili growled, stomping toward the shore. He turned and looked back across the water. The fog had lifted enough that they could see barely make out Lake-town, shrouded in smoke and fire, silent now but for the crackling of flame. “They have all paid for his folly.”

He reached Bilba's side and almost absently wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her along with him. The water had leeched into her coat, weighing it down somewhat but she barely noticed it, focusing instead on the black dots in the distance.

“Is it just me or are they moving faster?” she whispered, her voice tight with fear.

Fili followed her gaze, tensed and then swore long and creatively. “They’ve seen us!” He turned toward the large group on the bank and barked an order. As one they obeyed him, too concerned with staying alive to worry about leadership. The trees of Mirkwood were just visible in the distance. The orcs were still a distance away. If they were lucky all of them could be in the trees and lost within the forest before they caught up. Bilba doubted the orcs would waste time tracking them, not when they had their sights set on Erebor.

She thought of Thorin and the others back in the mountain and the camps and sent up a prayer to the Valar for their safety.

Then, along with the others, she ran. The cursed dress and the coat tangled around her and dragged at her but she hiked them both up as best she could and struggled to keep up with the others.

She’d only made it a few yards when the feeling started. It was small, insignificant almost; an odd buzzing in the back of her skull as though a bee had somehow been trapped there. It grew steadily to a loud hum with every step she took, the noise eventually so loud she could no longer hear the heavy breathing of those around her, the stomp of their feet on the ground.

Heaviness settled over her body, apart from the impractical clothing she wore, dragging her toward the ground. She began to lag, falling back until she was at the rear of the group. A few minutes more and a gap began to grow between her and the last person. Fear settled in the back of her throat as she realized she was being left behind.

Bilba came to a stop almost without realizing it and then, against her will, found herself turning around.

There was a figure well behind her on the shore of the lake. The orcs were still mere specks in the distance though they grew steadily larger with every passing second. How this figure, even on horseback, had caught up so fast she couldn’t begin to imagine. His horse, coal black and massive in size, stood unnaturally still, unaffected by the scent of death on the air. The man, if he could be called that, was cloaked entirely in black, even his face hidden deep in shadow.

She couldn't see his eyes but knew, somehow, they were fixed on her.

She found a foot sliding forward, followed by another and another still, moving her closer to him. At the same time something started burning in the back of her mind, a wheel of fire, rotating languidly and silently but growing ever steadily stronger.

Hands grabbed her and Bilba jerked in shock. The humming and burning stopped, the fire vanished.

“Bilba!” Kili shouted, “We have to go, now!”

Fili was on her other side, also holding her arm. Bilba looked back to the shore but the figure was gone.

Instead she saw a line of orcs racing straight toward them, at least a dozen, no longer specks. How had they gotten there so fast?

Fili cursed and then they were running again, stumbling as they raced toward the treeline. The dress tangled about her legs and Bilba went down on her knees, pain radiating up them as the sand and gravel bit into her skin.

The boys dragged her up again and then they were under the trees, racing through a forest every bit as dangerous as the orcs behind them. Bilba didn’t see the others from Lake-town and prayed they hadn’t stopped, hadn’t looked back, had just continued to run.

Behind her she heard the orcs shouting in Black Speech and her blood ran to ice as she translated what they were saying.

“They’re going to set fire to the forest!” she shouted at Fili. He stared at her, eyes wide with shock. It wasn’t something any of them had anticipated, somehow subconsciously tying the forest to the strength and might of the elves that lived within.

But that was a delusion and, in the end, it was a forest like any other, comprised of wood and so, so very easy to destroy.

They burst into a small clearing and there were the survivors from Lake-town, gathered in a huddle looking lost and scared.

Sigrid ran to her with Tilda by her side. Another boy, older and with looks so close to Bard he could only be his son, also joined them.

“There’s no time!” Bilba yelled. “Keep running!”

The forest was diseased, she thought, much of the wood dried and sick. The fire would catch fast, the light sprinkling of rain most likely not heavy enough to help.

A loud whoosh sounded behind her and she turned to see a tongue of flame leaping over the treetops, fire crackling through the branches, rain sizzling as it hit and evaporated.

She'd been right.

The wood was dry, the forest sick.

And the rain was far, far to light to do any good.

Flames licked higher, black smoke already swirling upwards.

Kili grabbed her hand and, together, they ran with the rest of the survivors deeper into the forest.

Behind them, Mirkwood burned.

 


	50. Chapter 50

Despite having fantasized about Mirkwood on fire many times, Thorin discovered he found no pleasure in actually seeing it happen. Perhaps it was the fact he’d lost his own home to fire that made it impossible to find joy in another losing theirs the same way, even if that individual was Thranduil.

The smoke rising in the far distance suggested the conflagration must be truly massive to be seen from Erebor. It had started raining in earnest almost as soon as the smoke became visible, no doubt Eru aiding the kingdom of his pointy eared children. From his vantage point on Erebor’s front balcony, Thorin saw Thranduil come out of his tent and stare at the black plume rising over the trees. It was too far to see his expression but, again, going from his own memories, Thorin could picture it well enough. He drew back into the shadows under the overhang to watch, protected from the rain and the eyes of the elven king should he choose to look back.

Thorin wondered if the elf would abandon the men and go back to his kingdom to save it. Were the people he’d left behind fighting against the orcs? Were they fleeing? Or were they even then falling beneath the blades and arrows of the horde?

A horn sounded.

For a second the fact it was not coming from somewhere within the camps didn’t register.

Below he caught sight of Thranduil whirl around, his eyes wide with something Thorin had never associated with an elf, horror.

About that time the first orcs started pouring in…from _between_ Erebor and the camps.

Thorin’s breath caught in his throat as the scope of what was happening registered.

They had been deceived.

While the main body of the army had marched directly at them, faster than expected judging from the location of the smoke, another group must have been moving even more swiftly around behind. With Thranduil and most of his elves at Erebor, focused on the army coming straight at them, the elves left in Mirkwood had probably been told to watch the edge of the forest leading to the mountain with little to no attention given to the other. It was possible even the fire itself had been set to draw attention away from the true threat. There had been no one in place to spot the contingent marching along the backside of the forest, around the tip and then down, cutting between Erebor and Mirkwood and coming in behind the camp.

Thranduil stepped forward, drawing his sword and meeting the first orc head on. His weapon sliced easily through its midsection, killing it so quickly it continued two feet before its body realized it was dead and collapsed.

As he did the rest of the contingent arrived, swarming over the camps like a plague unleashed upon the earth.

The clang of metal reached his ears, together with the scream of the wounded and dying, the sharp tang of spilled blood quickly becoming so strong not even the rain could lessen it. Thorin caught a brief glimpse of Gandalf wielding a sword and his staff simultaneously then he lost sight of the wizard in the chaos.

Adrenaline and shock vibrated through his body and the headache he’d grown almost used to vanished with a suddenness that staggered him. He stumbled forward, into the rain, until he caught himself against the railing. For the first time he became aware of the fog inside his mind, clouding his thoughts. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it, but it remained stubbornly intact.

Stubborn, his mind repeated. Bilba always told him he was stubborn.

His mind flashed to the look on her face when he’d cast her out, the eyes of his nephews as he’d banished them along with her.

Why had he done that again?

She was a traitor, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. She turned your kin against you, stole the Arkenstone and gave it to your enemy.

That was right, Thorin thought, she had done that. She’d taken his trust, his love, and used it against him.

Something in that train of thought rang false. A warning seemed to sound in his mind, urging him to question, to fight back.

He growled and shoved the thoughts away. He had no need to do anything of the kind. He was not his grandfather, or his father. He was Thorin Okenshield, a king for Durin’s sake. What kind of king would he be if he couldn’t hold control over his own mind?

The strange fog inside his mind thickened and the warning subsided. The voice of his nephew arguing darted through his head but was so faint he couldn’t hear the words. He disregarded it as quickly as he’d done when the boy had stood before him.

He had no need of any counsel aside from him own.

“Your plan has worked perfectly, Cousin,” a voice said mildly behind him, startling him. He snapped back to himself. “It’s almost as though you expected just this scenario. You truly possess the wisdom and foresight of a king.”

Of course he did, Thorin thought irritably, it was the role he’d been born for. He turned his head to see Dain standing behind him, dressed in full armor with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Thorin had informed him they would not fight, that the men and elves could protect themselves. Dain had responded with a sharp nod and had gone and readied his soldiers as though they’d had an entirely different conversation. Since the soldiers belonged to Dain, and Thorin didn’t have the Arkenstone thanks to the burglar, he had allowed it.

Dain stepped up next to him, surveying the battle below. The camps had been taken completely by surprise. The entire area was a mass of battle. Every so often Thorin would see a flash of blond hair from an elf, a man scrambling to defend himself against attacks from multiple sides.

He was aware he was breathing heavily and his hands were flexing unconsciously on the rail, the sharp edges of stone biting into the flesh of his palms.

“Keeping a remnant back was an excellent decision,” Dain continued, as though they were simply continuing the same conversation Thorin was sure they’d never had. “If we go out now we can trap them between our forces. Instead of catching us with our backs turned they’ll find themselves crushed between the men and elves and the axes of the dwarves.” He studied Thorin, his eyes casual. “You’ll come out the hero. I’d imagine they would naturally end their aggressions against Erebor immediately in gratitude. Not only that but you’ll have established yourself as a capable leader and king, one able to lead his people into battle, answering to no one but himself.” He turned, almost languidly to glance at the battle. As he did Thorin noticed Dain’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword, so tight his hand shook. “Of course, we’ll need to hurry. If we tarry any later we’ll lose our advantage, _Cousin_.”

Another scream echoed beneath them. Dain was right, Thorin thought. He would rout the orcs and prove once and for all he was the king no one believed he could be. He would put the elves and men in their place and establish he was the King under the Mountain, Arkenstone or not.

He straightened his legs and stood, hands still gripping the railing. Blood stained the stone under his fingertips where the skin had split though he barely felt the pain. There was no time for such thoughts, not now.

He gave a short nod to Dain who immediately spun and headed inside.

Thorin followed and found Dwalin mere feet within the chamber. Dain shot an odd, unreadable glance at Dwalin, barely nodding as he strode past to wait in the corridor outside.

Thorin was about to comment on it when he became distracted by the large stand Dwalin stood next to. On it hung armor he hadn’t seen in over a hundred years.

Dwalin, who was already in armor of his own, grinned and patted it. “Found it in the Treasury. Figured you’d want it.”

Thorin nodded and strode forward, allowing his friend to help him strap it on quickly. “How did you know I would even need it?”

Dwalin gave a non-committal shrug. “Figured you’d want to go show those tree shaggers who’s boss is all.” He was silent as he fitted the pieces together rapidly, fingers moving over the latches and straps. “Dain says Bilba and the boys are gone.” His voice was casual but Thorin caught a thread of tension beneath it. Most likely it was for his nephews. More and more he was becoming convinced that it was their age that had led them astray. He should never have listened to his sister about taking them.

Thorin sneered. “Two days ago. I should have suspected she’d flee back to the Shire, coward that she is. I’ll admit I didn’t expect her hold over the boys to be so strong that she’d take them with her but it’ll be easy enough to reclaim them after this mess is sorted out.” And reclaim them he would. Where he'd left the Shire little more than a beggar he'd return triumphant, a hundred or more soldiers at his back. The traitor would have no choice but to turn his heirs over to him at once. She thought him weak, that she could betray him and face to retribution.

She would soon know the error of her way.

A clamoring was ringing in his heart, a voice so loud it was nearly audible shouting “ _wrong! Wrong! All wrong!_ ” Thorin crushed it ruthlessly. He was not wrong and he would not allow his heart to overrule his head, not again.

Dwalin said nothing. He finished outfitting Thorin in silence and handed him Orcrist. Thorin gave a short nod. “Let’s go.”

Dain was waiting in the corridor and, together, the three made their way to the front entrance. When Dain had arrived they’d managed to clear a small opening in the rock to allow his army through. It had been covered once they’d all made it in but would only take a moment or two to clear again.

They rounded a corner to the Gallery of the Kings, and Thorin stumbled to a stop at the sight of an entire army of Dwarves in full armor instantly falling to one knee before him.

_They bow to you, even without the Arkenstone. Do you see? Or are you still as blind as ever?_

Thorin flinched as the female voice rang in his head.

It sounded like Bilba’s.

_The ones who matter never needed the Arkenstone._

_They never needed you to prove yourself in battle._

_They followed from loyalty._

_They followed from love._

_They did not follow the Heir to Erebor, or the exiled King under the Mountain._

_They followed you._

_What do you follow, Thorin Oakenshield?_

“Cousin?”

Thorin blinked and realized he’d been standing still, staring at the crowd kneeling before him.

 _You didn’t need the Arkenstone,_ Bilba’s voice repeated in his head. _You never did._

 

_Tell me, O King._

 

 

 

 

_What have you done?_

 

 

 

 

At the front of the army his Company, what was left of it, stepped forward and also dropped to their knees. All wore armor and held their weapons at the ready. The absence of three was sharp, it almost screamed to Thorin as loudly as though the missing were actually there proclaiming it themselves.

But they did it to themselves, he stubbornly argued, weak though it suddenly sounded. They were the traitors, not him.

The Bilba in his head gave no answer

Thorin headed down the stairs and took up a position in front of them, facing the entrance. Several dwarves stood on either side of the rubble they’d moved in place to re-block the gates, ready to open it at his word.

Dain and Dwalin stepped up, flanking him on his right and his left.

Thorin took a deep breath and nodded at the dwarves. Rock grated and dim, filtered sunlight struck his eyes, more light and clarity than he’d seen in some time. The sounds of battle came through, the roar of orcs and the sickening crunch of metal on bone.

Thorin raised his sword.

Beside him Dwalin raised his and roared, “Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!”

The cry was taken up behind them, until the entire chamber resounded with it.

And, with that, the army of the Iron Hills, the remnants of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and the King under the Mountain charged into battle.

 

***

 

Bilba crouched under the bed and watched feet tromp past.

Honestly, would it kill the orcs to trim their nails once in a while?

The footsteps faded but she didn’t dare move from her spot. Next to her Tilda let out the smallest of whimpers, only to have Sigrid quickly clamp her hand over the little girl’s mouth. Bain lay on Bilba’s other side, the only sign he was even alive the slight movement of his waist against her as he breathed.

Somehow the four of them had wound up inside Thranduil’s bedchambers, stuffed like sardines under his bed. Bilba made a mental note to compliment him later on the size of said bed, if she survived…and he survived.

In the distance she could hear the faint sounds of battle and bit back a whimper of her own, borne more from worry over Fili, Kili and Aragorn than for herself. They were off somewhere fighting, trying to keep the rest of them safe. She hadn’t seen them in hours and had no way of knowing what, if anything had happened.

Though the ease with which the orcs appeared to be moving through the palace of Mirkwood didn’t bode particularly well.

All in all, Mirkwood had ended up being far from the sanctuary they had all hoped for.

Soon after fleeing into the forest they’d run into a patrol of elves on their way to fight the fire and the orcs that had entered along with it. Some of them had split off to escort Bilba and the Lake-town survivors to the palace. As they had journeyed rain had started in earnest, soon helping tamp down the fire as well as saturating the wood to the point that new fires would be nearly impossible to set. Still, several other patrols reported the fire was not put out nearly soon enough to prevent an immense amount of damage to the forest. From what they reported, the Mirkwood Thranduil would return to would be far different from the one he'd left.

It had taken them nearly two days to reach the palace, dogged nearly the entire way by intermittent attacks by orcs. It seemed, as the main army traveled along the boundaries of the forest, groups had broken off and entered the forest, wreaking havoc on anything and anyone they saw.

Bilba and the others had barely made it to the palace, thinking, foolishly perhaps, they would be safe once they made it. Instead, upon arrival, they’d found it nearly deserted. Those who remained reported an advance guard of orcs that had somehow snuck around the back edge of Mirkwood and come upon the camps at the base of Erebor in an ambush. Word was the dwarves had emerged from the mountain to help and, upon hearing of it, many of the elves that had remained in Mirkwood had set out as well to give aid. Bilba had felt her blood run cold at the news and had seen twin grim looks on both Fili and Kili.

From what Bilba could guess based on the times the elves reported, the surprise attack on Erebor had happened about the time she had been standing on the shores of the lake, watching Fili and Aragorn return with the last survivors of Lake-town. This meant whatever had happened was well in the past already. Even so, Bilba sent up a prayer to the Valar for the safety of the Company and Thorin. Regardless of what they had, or had not in some cases, done she had no desire to see them injured or worse.

Further compounding the bad news were the reports that no sign had been seen of Glorfindel since he’d gone to take on the Witch King of Angmar. As far as anyone knew he had failed and even now the army advanced on Erebor with the Nazgul at its head.

Bilba, the survivors and the elves had made it inside the palace with the orcs snapping at their heels. Once inside they’d found themselves besieged, the orcs quickly surrounding the walls and barring any escape. If Thranduil and the main bulk of the army hadn’t been at Erebor, or if the ones who’d left after hearing of the ambush had stayed just a day or two longer things would have been vastly different.

There was no use in thinking of what might have been, however, there was only what was.

Bilba had continued to keep her mental count and, if she'd stayed true, the main body of the orc army arrived at Erebor at or just before the time when the orcs they were dealing with finally managed to breach the walls of the palace.

Everyone had scattered through the palace to hide. The elves had stayed behind, along with some of the Lake-town survivors, Aragorn, Fili and Kili, to protect their escape.

Not that there was anywhere to escape to.

Tilda sniffled beside her and she realized the girl was crying. Bilba reached out a hand and intertwined it with the much smaller one. Tilda’s hand was ice cold and shaking badly in her own.

Bain shifted next to her. “I think they’re gone. Should we move?”

Bilba hesitated. “I don’t know,” she whispered finally. “They didn’t find us. We’re probably safest here.”

She couldn’t see him but the boy’s tone when he spoke next was so clear she could picture the frown on his face as clear as day. “I doubt the palace will be retaken until Thranduil returns. If we stay here we’re bound to be caught eventually.”

Bilba chewed her lower lip absently. Bain was young, she knew that much, though she wasn’t entirely sure just how young. There weren’t a lot of humans in the Shire after all and the few she’d seen in Bree on her short trip had all been older.

The thought of the trip to Bree, and her belief it had been an adventure, nearly made her burst out in hysterical laughter. If only she’d known now what she’d thought she knew then…

“What would you have us do?” she asked finally. It couldn’t hurt to hear him out. She wasn’t exactly the expert on being in a palace overrun by orcs any more than he was. Given where he’d grown up in comparison to where she’d grown up, however, she was willing to wager he was a bit more experienced in survival.

“They’re probably all inside by now,” Bain said, his voice a hiss, “and you can tell the fighting has moved farther away. If we leave now we could probably make it out and back into the forest.”

“The forest isn’t much safer.” That was Sigrid from Bilba’s other side. Tilda was still silent, her grip so tight on Bilba’s hand it was a wonder her bones didn’t snap from the pressure. She made no attempt to disengage it however. All she could picture was her own younger self seated on a rock with her dead parents on one side and malicious Trolls on the other.

What she wouldn’t have given for someone to hold her hand then.

“There’s Fili and Kili too,” Bilba added now. “I won’t leave them.” She didn’t want to leave Aragorn either but the man was a Ranger. She had no doubt he could do fine on his own.

“That’s good,” a voice drawled suddenly, “since we certainly weren’t planning on leaving you.”

Bilba jumped so hard she cracked her head on the underside of the bed. Scowling she scooted forward and managed to work her way out.

Standing up, Bilba brushed the dirt off her sleeves and turned to help the others out. “How did you even find us?”

“We saw the direction you went,” Kili said, his voice oddly flat. “After that we just started looking until we heard you whispering.”

“You’re lucky it was us,” Fili’s voice came, tight with anger, “and not the orcs.”

Bilba paused in the act of helping Tilda stand up.

Not anger, her mind supplied. His voice was not tight with anger.

She turned, and gasped, both hands flying to her mouth.

Kili’s face was bone white; his eyes almost perfectly round with horror and disbelief. His entire body was jittering with nervous energy, as though he physically could not keep himself still, or like he desperately wanted to do something but didn’t know what.

He had one arm tight around Fili’s waist and one of Fili’s arms draped across his shoulders.

Fili looked…fear twisted in her gut, thick and visceral and Bilba suddenly felt incredibly young. Far too young to deal with any of this.

Fili was hurt. He was hurt badly.

She could see the rent in his shirt, the blood staining the haphazard bandages underneath. It looked like Kili had ripped up a sheet into strips to try and staunch the wound.

It wasn’t working.

So much blood, there was so, so much blood. Fili’s skin was slick with sweat, his eyes glassy and, if possible, he was paler than Kili though it was clearly from blood loss and not shock. Almost his entire weight, she could now see, was hanging onto Kili, forcing the other to lean to the side to compensate and hold his brother up.

Kili looked like his entire world had turned upside down and Bilba wondered if this was the first time he’d really understood his brother was not immortal.

“It was my fault,” Kili whispered, looking sick. “I ducked when I should have dodged and he jumped in front of me.” His voice wavered, his eyes glinting with unshed tears. “The blow was meant for _me_ , not him.”

“We need to get out,” Bilba said, flapping her hands uselessly. “We need to leave…find help.” A thought occurred to her suddenly. “Where’s Aragorn? He’s a Ranger. He can help.”

Kili shook his head. “We were separated during the fighting. He could be anywhere in the palace by now.”

Bilba felt her own panic rising, breathing becoming difficult as she tried desperately to think of something to do.

Bain stepped past her suddenly. He took up position on Fili’s other side and quickly dragged Fili’s arm over his shoulder, shifting so he was holding him up as much as Kili was.

“Alright,” he said, his eyes older than his size would suggest. “Let’s get going then.”

He and Kili turned to the door, nearly dragging Fili between them.

Bilba started to follow, only to pause as she heard a whimper behind her. Turning she saw Sigrid trying to pull Tilda along. The little girl, however, appeared rooted to the floor. Her eyes were wide, her hands clenched into fists and she shook so hard it was a wonder she kept her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she said through teeth that somehow were clenched and chattering at the same time. “If we go out they’ll see us. We won’t get away.” Tears began to fall out of her eyes, pouring down her face and dripping onto the front of her dress.

Bilba stepped forward and dropped down in front of her. She reached out to take the girl’s hand, still ice cold in her own. Part of her wanted to scream that they had no time for this, that they had to get Fili out now, before it was too late.

The other part, however, ever saw her own younger self, trapped so long ago in that cave, too terrified to move for such a long time. She could remember trying to leave so many times, always terrified they would see her, always praying they wouldn’t…

An idea formed.

Shifting, Bilba quickly found the magic ring she’d taken back from Kili in the Treasury. With everything that had gone on she hadn’t given it that much thought but, now, it popped into her mind immediately.

She held it up, the light glinting off it. “This is a magic ring, Tilda, alright? If you put it on it’ll make you invisible. No one will be able to see you.”

The girl blinked. “Really?”

Bilba nodded. “Really, watch.”

She slid the ring on. Immediately the world was cast in blurred grays and muted colors. Tilda gasped, her eyes going wide with surprise and Sigrid jumped next to her.

Bilba removed the ring and grabbed Tilda’s hand. She went to put the ring in the little girl’s palm…and frowned as an almost palpable force stopped her.

She didn’t want to give up the ring, at all. It was hers after all. Why should she have to give it to anyone, for any length of time?

Bilba grimaced. She sounded like Thorin, she thought in disgust. She took a deep breath and deliberately put the ring in Tilda’s hand, closing her fingers over it.

“I want this back, ok?” she said, looking in the little girl’s eyes. “I’m just giving it to you to borrow. Once we’re all safe you can return it.”

Tilda nodded, her grip on the ring tight.

“Ok,” Bilba said again, patting her hand. She thought of Glorfindel suddenly and frowned. “Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to though, ok? Only in case of emergencies.” If Glorfindel could see people wearing the ring she imagined others probably could as well. She didn’t want Tilda thinking the ring was infallible only to have her run into someone like that and then have them not be so kind as Glorfindel had been.

They headed out. Bain and Kili supported Fili between them while Tilda, Sigrid and Bilba brought up the rear. Tilda walked with her hand out, clutching the ring in her palm like it was a talisman to ward off evil.

As suspected the orcs had gone deeper within the palace leaving the way out clear. As they passed one door, Bilba paused suddenly, remembering it from her long stay while the dwarves had been locked up and she’d been searching for Thorin.

“Kili,” she hissed. “This is the Healer’s Ward.”

Kili’s eyes widened with hope. They dragged Fili inside, shutting the door behind them.

As it turned out all of Bard’s children had basic medical training, a fact for which Bilba planned to pledge eternal loyalty to him later. Even Tilda got involved; seeming to momentarily forget her fear in light of something she knew how to do and could have some amount of control over. She talked as she worked, explaining how frequent injuries were in a fishing town and how their father wanted them always able to take care of themselves, particularly when he was gone on his barge.

They were able to find enough supplies to stitch the wound on Fili’s torso, a truly vicious affair that had cut so deep in places Bilba could see the white of his ribs gleaming through the skin. The sight made her gut roil with nausea but she managed to keep it down, barely. They cleaned it as best they could before stitching it and then wrapping his entire torso in all the bandages they could find. There were a number of herbs packed into the wound and bandages as well. Sigrid explained them to Bilba; naming those that helped ward off infection and those that helped the blood to thicken so it didn’t flow as easily from the wound.

Fili was semi-conscious through it all. His eyes, while open, seemed fixed on nothing and he barely answered when spoken to.

Sigrid stepped back finally, her hands and dress streaked with blood. “We’ve done all we can,” she whispered. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

She didn’t say anything else.

She didn’t have to.

Bain and Kili hefted Fili back up again and they started once more heading toward the exit.

The fact they made it so far should have been the tipoff that all was not well. After all, since the moment she’d set foot out of the Shire, when had anything been that easy?

It was as they were crossing the throne room, staying off to the side, that the low laughter started, followed by a voice that had haunted Bilba’s dreams since the first time she’d heard it.

**“Where are you going, little pet?”**

Bilba reacted before the threat had even fully registered. She grabbed Sigrid and Tilda and shoved them both, hard, away from her. “RUN!”

In front of her Kili had done the same to Bain, pushing him toward his sisters. “Go! We’ll be right behind you!”

It was a lie and Bilba knew it. It was possible even Bain knew it but his first priority was his sisters, as it should be, and he vanished down a dark corridor after them with only the briefest look back, the slightest hesitation.

If they survived this, Bilba was giving Bard a medal for his parenting skills if she had to learn how to forge it herself.

A hand grabbed the collar of her dress and coat and wrenched her straight up into the air. Bilba gagged, clawing at the fabric as it cut into her throat. Kili shouted, laying Fili down and charging forward but a quick blow to the face sent him sprawling next to his nearly unconscious brother.

Bilba found herself being twisted around until she was mere inches from the sneering face of Azog. Behind him sat the throne, shrouded in darkness.

“You better hope that wasn’t Thranduil’s favorite chair,” Bilba managed to gasp out; “he’s going to have to burn it now that your ugly carcass touched it.”

Azog grinned, or maybe he grimaced, it was hard to tell. His breath wafted into her face, so rancid it almost made her wish she couldn’t breathe altogether as it would at least spare her from it.

 **“You are fortunate, pet,”** Azog hissed, “ **Had we met a few short days ago I would have killed you on sight.”**

“Why don’t you?” Bilba snapped, even as fear snaked down her spine. Not for her so much as for her babies. The fabric was still tight around her throat but she could get in enough air if she held onto the collar and dragged herself up a tiny bit. For the first time she was grateful the clothing was much too large for her as it gave her room to maneuver.

 **“I would like nothing better,”** Azog said, “ **and perhaps I shall still have the chance.”** He leaned forward until his face was less than an inch from hers.

 **“But, for now, I cannot. There is somehow who wants to meet you.”** His eyes went to Fili and Kili. **“All three of you, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”**

 

***

 

Thorin sagged on the edge of a rock, the point of his sword dug into the ground, his hand gripping the hilt and his head resting on his arm. He gasped and struggled to regain his breath, knowing he had very little time before he’d be forced to get up again.

The small alcove he sat in was at the very edges of Dale, where the rock began to rise and form the spires and cliff edge that overlooked the ruins. It was relatively sheltered, though undoubtedly not for long.

At the moment Dwalin and Dain stood guard before him, keeping the orcs off as he rested, as he and Dwalin had done for Dain and he and Dain had done for Dwalin.

It was a necessary rhythm they’d fallen into, fighting and cycling out to allow one to rest at a time.

The last true break any of them had gotten had been the short respite between the initial ambush and the arrival of the main army.

The memory of it seemed ages ago. As expected, the appearance of the dwarves at the orc’s back had proven just the thing needed to bring victory. The orcs had been thoroughly routed and Thorin had, briefly, enjoyed the very accolades and praise he’d expected from everyone.

Well, almost everyone. The man, Bard, had stared at him as though Thorin had executed his dog and Thranduil looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon every time his eye turned in Thorin’s direction.

Of course, that could just have been Thranduil’s normal expression. He’d been mildly surprised the elven king had not immediately abandoned them to return to his kingdom. Instead he had stated simply that he trusted the ones he’d left behind.

The elf’s words had rankled for reasons Thorin couldn’t completely explain and he’d avoided him the rest of the time.

He’d never seen Gandalf. Apparently the wizard had fought until the last orc was driven away and then had vanished.

He should have suspected it, Thorin thought idly. He was clearly cut from the same cloth as the traitor.

The various groups of men, elves and dwarves had spent the rest of the time they had left to them treating the wounded and trying to devise some sort of strategy.

In the end he was fairly sure the plan had basically amounted to them all doing their best to not die, or at least to do it in such a way that took a number of orcs with them.

The attack by the main army had happened with little fanfare. The orcs had appeared in the distance and they had gone to engage them. There had been no sign of the so-called Witch King and Thorin hoped desperately it had simply been an exaggeration.

Not that there was any need to exaggerate anything.

The orcs were never-ending. He fought with Dain and Dwalin, the three of them forming a solid team. There was no time to think about any of the others, much less look for them. It was all he could do to keep himself alive. Every time he cut down an orc two more seemed to rise to take their place.

Thunder boomed overhead and he scowled up at the sky. As if the orcs weren’t bad enough one of the Valar seemed determined to drown them all before the orcs could kill them. Trying to fight while sloughing through mud had drained him even faster, not to mention the constant threat of slipping in water at precisely the wrong moment.

“Time’s up!” Dwalin shouted, as he swung Grasper and Keeper in an overhead move to decapitate an orc that had seen them.

Dain dropped back a step and held a hand out. Thorin sighed, grasped it and allowed the other to heave him to his feet.

His entire body protested. He was soaking wet, covered in mud, orc blood and his own blood. He felt like one giant, walking bruise and his legs shook slightly under him as they resisted having to support his own weight.

Dain and Dwalin looked no better.

Dain scowled. “They just keep coming.”

Thorin grimaced and hefted Orcrist once more.

“Then I suppose we’ll just keep swinging.”

 

***

 

The sounds of battle were growing louder.

Bilba might be more nervous about that if it weren’t for the fact she was on the back of a giant white warg with Azog’s arm clamped around her waist and his chest pressed against her back. Every time she moved his arm tightened around her, causing a burst of panic at the thought he might injure the babies. To try and prevent it she held herself as still as possible even as her muscles began to scream in protest from being locked in place for so long.

If she’d thought his breath was bad it was only because it had temporarily blocked her from smelling the rest of him. The heavy rain, breaking through the trees didn’t help matters, raising the stench from disgusting to something truly memorable.

Bilba couldn’t seem to stop shivering, water having long ago soaked through her clothing and turning her skin to ice. It made her think of Tilda and she mentally prayed the little girl and her siblings had found safety. She prayed they’d found Aragorn or one of the elves and not the orcs crawling through the palace like unwanted vermin.

Two other wargs ran on either side of them. Kili was held by one of Azog’s lieutenants on one, his hands bound before him. He leaned forward as much as he could, trying to see past Bilba to the warg on her other side.

That was the one that carried Fili.

The orc on that one hadn’t bothered to bind Fili’s hands. Fili appeared to be unconscious; at least Bilba desperately hoped that’s all it was. His entire body was limp against the orc that held him, his head lolling back on its shoulder.

If he were awake he’d probably be traumatized for life by the experience.

Rain beat on his clothes and ran down his face and Bilba felt despair welling inside her at the sight. He was already hurt so badly. Being soaked and freezing couldn’t help. It wasn’t helping her and she was healthy.

They burst from the treeline and Bilba realized they had left the forest far, far beyond where the Company had initially left and traveled to Lake-town.

They had come out of the forest at the spires that jutted over the ruins of Dale. Bilba remembered standing on that very rock with Thorin, Fili, Kili and the rest staring over the lost city. She’d been awed at the time at the amount of devastation.

It was nothing to what she felt now.

The landscape was nearly black with swarming orcs locked in battle with elves, men and dwarves. They swarmed like locusts over the ruins and the surrounding landscape, even up the paths leading to the spires though the actual spires were clear for the moment.

Bilba heard the clash of metal and the screams of the wounded and dying, the sound rising over the drumming of the rain and the thunder that occasionally cracked overhead. A burst of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the battlefield in unnaturally sharp color before casting it once more in shadow.

Azog slowed the warg to a walk as they moved nearer. He dismounted and dragged her off, throwing her to the edge of the rock. Fili and Kili joined her a moment later.

Kili scrambled over her legs, carefully, dropped next to his brother and gathered him onto his lap. He shot a panicked look at Bilba and gave a short nod.

Bilba relaxed only a fraction. Fili was still alive, for the moment at least.

Azog, the other orcs and their wargs created a half circle that blocked the three of them in, not that they could have run with Fili anyway.

Bilba turned to look over the edge, drawing her legs under her and gripping the rock with her hands as she peered over.

An incredibly long way down the battle raged up to the very wall of rock. It seemed like an ocean, waves rushing into crash against the unforgiving stone before breaking and falling back, only to repeat over and over.

With each sequence casualties resulted, broken bodies left in the wake of the outgoing tide. They lay in scattered piles like children’s toys left out after a day of play.

From her distance, with the rain, mud and darkness, it was impossible to tell how many were orc, dwarf, human or elf. A sharp metallic smell reached her nostrils and Bilba nearly gagged as she realized it was from the blood. She could see it, not on the ground for it mixed with the rain and mud, but on the stone, large splashes here and there, silent mementos of pain.

A…presence seemed to rise up behind her.

Bilba felt her entire body tense. An instinctive urge to run rose within her, suffocating her breath. She had the sudden desire to fling herself from the spire, anything to escape what was coming.

Kili, who was facing behind her, had gone perfectly still. His eyes were wide with horror and he clung to his brother’s body as if protecting him, or as if desperately wishing Fili could protect _him_.

Bilba turned around.

The wargs had moved, creating a path between them.

Through that path rode the rider she’d first seen at Lake-town.

Up close he was even larger than she’d originally thought. His horse was massive, coal black with small red eyes and iron hooves. It was tacked out in black leather and silver that somehow managed to both creak as one would expect and to sound ominous and threatening at the same time.

The figure upon its back was cloaked in a thick, heavy robe that, despite the rain, didn’t appear to be getting wet. On his head he wore a helm that, while possessing holes that should have exposed his eyes and most of his face, revealed nothing but darkness. His hands were covered with steel gauntlets, ridge and serrated as though he wore dragon scales instead of armor.

He swung a leg over and dismounted, hitting the mud with a thud that seemed to reverberate as though he weighed far more than he should. The brief glimpse she got of his feet showed they were similarly armored.

Bilba rose to her feet, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

He was looking at _her_.

Kili must have realized it too for he gently disentangled himself from his brother and rose shakily to his feet, taking a stance in front of her. It was foolhardy, he had no armor and his weapons had been taken when they’d been captured.

The figure…man…whatever he was, strode forward.

Kili lunged forward, only to have the figure sweep him aside with one arm as though he were an insect. Kili flew through the air like a ragdoll, hitting one of the wargs and impacting the ground hard.

Bilba screamed. She took a step forward, trying to get to him, but never made it any further.

A gloved hand, somehow colder than ice, closed around her throat and wrenched her right off her feet. Bilba felt a flash of déjà vu, it was the second time that day she’d been picked up by the throat but, unlike the first time, there was no guarantee of being spared. She grabbed desperately at the figure’s arm, tangling her fingers in its robes and the chinks of armor as she tried to scrabble for air.

Holding the weight of her entire body in one hand as though it meant nothing, the figure calmly swing her to one side and stepped forward several more feet.

A moment later Bilba found herself dangling over the spires, nothing below her feet but the battle, still raging on far below.

 

***

 

The terrified scream didn’t register with Thorin at first.

He and Dwalin were fighting back to back on the lowest slopes leading up to the spires. Dain had peeled off at some point, going to aid one of his soldiers and quickly getting lost in the crush.

Thorin instinctively adjusted his tactics accordingly and fought on. His world narrowed to a single point, only the battle existed, only the fight for survival.

Duck the oncoming sword of an orc, thrust upward, turn before the creature’s guts had finished spilling on the ground.

Dwalin’s voice barked an order. Thorin obeyed instantly, spinning right, just in time for Grasper to spin past him and cave in the skull of an oncoming enemy.

An orc fell in front of him. Thorin planted a boot in its back and pushed off, leaping over it. He swung Orcrist over his head and brought it down full force on the skull of another orc. There was the barest resistance before it gave, the blade slicing cleanly through. Bits of bone and marrow splattered on Thorin’s face but he gave it little heed.

He was already on to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And on it went.

Until the scream.

It vibrated through his body, reverberated up his arms and resounded inside his head. It was a sound full of fear, pain, and deep grief.

It was a scream of impending, or already realized, loss.

It was a scream he recognized.

His head snapped to one side, eyes traveling up to the top of the spire. He’d been so focused on the battle he’d never paid much attention to it before. It had been empty, the battle ending some distance before the peak.

It was empty no longer.

For a second he didn’t understand what he was seeing. Dwalin kicked an orc away from him and snarled something but Thorin didn’t hear him. He backed away, moving to the top of a small outcropping of rock to give himself a better vantage point. His sword hung like a lead weight in his hand, the point dragging against the stone and leaving streaks of blood behind.

There were wargs on top of the spires. One of them was a giant white one and Thorin found himself instantly looking for its rider.

He found him a few feet away, Azog. The mere sight of the orc made his blood boil more than it already had been doing, the anger rising in him as it had done the last time he’d met the one who’d murdered his grandfather.

The orc’s eyes were trained on something on the ground and Thorin strained his eyes to see what had caught the creature’s attention.

The wargs shifted briefly and, for an instant, he caught sight of dark hair spilled on the ground, a pale face, eyes closed and features slack.

Kili.

Thorin staggered. What was Kili doing there? Dain said he was gone. He, Fili and…his eyes tracked to the right…and his entire world came to a halt.

The figure on the edge could only be the Witch King rumored to be leading the forces. Though Thorin had never seen a Nazgul, or even a drawing of one, every inhabitant of Middle Earth knew their description. They haunted the nightmares of every child for a time, as they had done Thorin when he had been young.

Now, however, the creature barely warranted a glance. That was because a flash of lightning illuminated the area, allowing Thorin to see that, at his feet, lay the crumpled form of his oldest nephew, blood soaked and far too still.

And it was because, dangling from Witch King’s hands, hanging over a drop that led straight to one of the densest parts of the battlefield, was Bilba.

Bilba.

Bilba, who wasn’t supposed to be there. Who was supposed to be safe, on her way to the Shire along with his nephews.

Who he could never possibly reach in time.

The fog inside his head dissipated, leaving a bitter, sharp clarity behind. Thorin _saw_ himself, truly saw himself for the first time...and what he saw sickened him.

He had cast aside his nephews, his One, and for what? For lifeless, cold gold that even then lay rotting under the carcass of a dragon who, likewise, had chosen gold over everything else…and had died alone and un-mourned as a consequence.

His nephews had tried to reason with him.

Bilba had gone even further and had tried to save him.

And still he had chosen the gold over them all.

Mahal, what had he done?

Pain blistered at the back of his skull suddenly, radiating outward through the rest of his head. Thorin put a hand back absently and pulled it away streaked with red.

The din of battle faded away until all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. His sword slipped from suddenly numb fingers and he found himself on his knees.

More lightning flashed and he saw the same scene again. Between him and her there stretched an ocean of shadow, orcs swarming over it like maggots on a corpse.

He wanted to rage, to scream at the sky for his own impotence...his own incompetence.

If he could only fix it.

He understood anything that happened was a result of his own choices, his own consequences to bear.

But not this.

Not his nephews.

Not his One.

Anything but this.

He staggered to his feet, stumbled forward and promptly fell off the outcropping he’d been on. He hit the ground on his hands and knees, pain barking through where his body had contacted. Thick, gloppy mud squelched between his fingers, water soaked through the clothing he wore under his armor. Water squeezed from the mud and ran over his fingers, tinged red from the blood of countless fallen.

He sat back on his heels and raised his head just in time to see the Nazgul’s hand open.

At the same time a sword appeared in the edge of Thorin’s vision, the blade flashing.

Bilba dropped.

The sword traced an arc through the air.

Thorin could do nothing to stop either.

 

 

 

His part in what would later come to be called the Battle of the Five Armies, for better or for worse, was done.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is ONE canon death in this chapter BUT it happens to be the single death in all of LOTR/Hobbit that doesn't stick SO, don't expect it to stick here either. It's really not a cliffhanger or suspense, just pulling in canon a little earlier and re-interpreting it my own way. The character has simply exited to go get his clothing bleached and his hair straightened! :P :D 
> 
> Credit for Gandalf's spell goes to a combination of the books/movies and Drenagon who used the spell in a similar way in her current story. I think I've used two or three of her ideas now, probably since she comes up with such awesome ones. :D

The creature simply stared at her.

Bilba grappled at the fingers around her throat, prying them away enough to gasp out, “What? What do you want?”

It gave no answer. As she studied it through the spots dancing in her vision she found she couldn’t tell if it was breathing. For all she knew the thing had turned into a statue right after grabbing her.

Given her luck of late she wouldn’t be surprised.

Her feet kicked uselessly over empty space and her lungs burned as she struggled to suck in oxygen. Fear coursed through her as she thought of the two innocent lives she carried.

The Nazgul shifted. Its head turned slightly toward the east as though something had caught its attention.

It turned its gaze back to her and Bilba could almost feel its gaze boring into her through the blackness that stood in place of its face.

It released her.

Her mind went into full denial, unable to comprehend what had happened.

She caught a brief glimpse of the Nazgul turning away, having already dismissed her, and then the edge of the cliff shot past her and she lost sight.

She didn’t scream. Her lungs were frozen in her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. She flailed wildly, her body instinctively trying to grab something, anything to stop her fall. Wind caught at her clothing and wrapped around her, the fabric snapping and moving as if it too was frantic to stop its downward fall.

Dull, gray rock rushed by her on one side. Overhead the edge of the cliff grew further and further away. A whimper managed to escape past her teeth, clenched so hard they ached. She squeezed her eyes shut and tensed, preparing for the impact.

Something caught her.

She’d braced for a hard impact with the ground, or to land on those fighting beneath her. Instead massive arms closed around her and pulled her in a tight embrace against a furred chest.

Bilba didn’t react, her mind still expecting her body to hit the ground.

There was movement then her position was being adjusted. She panicked and scrabbled for a hold only to find her feet gently touching the ground, arms still held around her in a loose, supporting hold.

Bilba looked up to find the massive form of a bear looming over her, concern obvious in his eyes.

“Beorn,” Bilba whispered. Bile suddenly rose in her throat and she dropped down, ducking under his arms and landing on her knees where she began to retch violently.

Beorn dropped to all fours next to her, his body a comforting presence. Bilba’s stomach continued to empty itself until she was exhausted. By that time shock had started to settle in and she was shaking and sobbing so hard that her breaths came in short, ragged gasps.

She was picked up again and she immediately curled against Beorn’s chest and cried until her throat hurt.

Finally, what seemed an eternity later, her tears ran dry though her body continued to shake with a cold far deeper than what the wind and rain could cause.

She pushed back from Beorn and forced a watery smile. “Thank you,” she managed her voice thin and wavery.

Taking stock of their surroundings she noticed they were next to a large outcropping of rock that jutted out and blocked her view of the battlefield. More rock stuck out overhead forming a small cave and providing protection from the rain.

Bilba sniffed, rubbed her arms and stepped forward, only to come up against the bulk of Beorn who’d made no effort to move.

“I have to go back,” Bilba said, even though the very thought made her want to start crying again. “Fili’s up there and he’s hurt. Kili’s hurt too. I have to go save them.”

Beorn studied her in silence. Just beyond him the rain fell with a steadiness that suggested it had no intention of letting up for some time. The quiet noise of it pattering on the ground would have been comforting in any other situation but it failed to do anything for her now. Every now and then a roll of thunder would rumble overhead, often followed by a burst of lightning that would temporarily light the landscape.

Just out of her sight Bilba could still hear the sound of battle, the ringing of steel meeting steel, screams of the wounded and dying.

She absently undid the small button on one of the pockets of her now drenched coat and slid her hand in, closing it around Bungo’s doll. She felt the metal of her parent’s rings press against her fingers and absently pulled them out. They were still joined into one ring, her father’s larger one creating a stark contrast with her mother’s smaller, more delicate one.

Beorn suddenly reached down to pick her up again and she gave a slight shriek of surprise, closing her hand around the rings and quickly returning them to the safety of her pocket next to Bungo’s doll.

Stepping out into the rain, Beorn set her on his shoulders and then dropped to all fours.

Beorn started back toward the battle with a long, rambling gait. Each movement nearly caused Bilba to fly right off his back, forcing her to grab on to tufts of his fur and hang on. She finally figured out how to grip his sides with her legs as best she could and allow her hips and waist to sway with the gait.

She almost cried when she realized Beorn meant to take her personally where she wanted to go, both from relief that she wouldn’t be alone and from fear of having to go at all. She settled for leaning forward briefly to press her face against Beorn’s back, wrapping her arms around him to hug him. “Thank you.”

He grunted and increased his stride into a lumbering run.

They burst around the corner and Bilba saw the battlefield spread out before them. She thought maybe, just maybe there seemed to be a slight advantage to the elves, men and dwarves in terms of numbers now but she wasn’t positive. It was possible it was just wishful thinking.

Beorn snarled and broke into a full run forcing Bilba to lean down low over his neck and hang on. The landscape around her became little more than a blur and she focused on the ground directly beneath to try and stave off dizziness.

It was probably for the best. Even with that view she saw more than she ever wanted. The mud that Beorn sloughed through was tinted red. She caught glimpses of limbs no longer attached to bodies, as well as other things her mind dutifully identified only to instantly shy away from in horror. Broken bits of weaponry were tossed about, their owners long past the point where they could do any good, and a few blood streaked gouges in the rock wall they raced past spoke of still more violence.

Beorn slowed as they began to round the slopes that led up to the spires. The battle had been thick at that point at one time. Bilba could see mounds of bodies, many of them contorted in unnatural shapes and positions. She gagged at the sight of heads caved in, entrails spilled out of gut wounds, brutal cuts that had nearly bisected a few of them.

Now that they were slowed some of the braver orcs tried to engage Beorn, only to die swiftly under the massive bear’s claws.

Bilba drew her legs up and tried to make herself as small a target as possible on Beorn’s back, worried she might be dragged off. Movement to her left drew her attention and she looked to see a tall dwarf, drenched in blood and grime, holding off a number of orcs trying to take him down.

He shifted, turning slightly, and Bilba started as she recognized Dwalin, features tight with anger. Grasper and Keeper swung so fast she could barely see them as he almost casually removed orc heads from their bodies.

Bilba narrowed her eyes as she noticed Dwalin was standing in an unnatural, wide legged stance. She looked closer and realized he was straddling a body, lying prone and still on the ground.

Dread settled in her heart and she leaned close to speak to Beorn. The shapeshifter easily adjusted his direction and moved toward Dwalin.

As they drew closer the orcs around Dwalin took one look at Beorn and fled back into the main part of battle. It left them in a relatively calm place, for the moment at least. The battle continued to move in waves, the thickest parts of it appearing and disappearing at a moment’s notice. Bilba was now convinced the fighting had indeed lessened somewhat and she felt an immense sense of relief that the end might be in sight.

That relief fled the second she drew alongside Dwalin and saw that the body he was guarding was Thorin's.

Thorin lay on his back, head turned away from her. His entire body was as mud and blood spattered as Dwalin. His hair had fallen over his face when he fell, obscuring his eyes from her, and she saw no sign of his sword.

Dwalin had turned to face them when the orcs had fled. He still held his axes, the heads pointing toward the ground. His chest heaved for air and he wavered slightly where he stood, exhausted to the point of collapse.

“Bilba,” he gasped. “What in Mahal’s name are you doing here?”

“What happened to Thorin?” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

Dwalin grimaced, shooting a look at his collapsed King. “Not sure. Got distracted by something and took a blow to the back of the head. I barely managed to save him from losing it altogether.” He reached a hand up and wiped sweat off his face, never losing hold of his sword. He nodded at Beorn. “He’s still alive but he needs aid. Think you can get him back to Erebor?”

Bilba buried the rush of relief she felt at hearing Thorin lived. She swallowed and glanced toward the spires. She couldn’t see the Witch King anymore but it didn’t mean he wasn’t there. “Fili and Kili are up there. Fili’s hurt, really bad. Kili might be too.”

Dwalin’s eyes darkened. “Alright. Get them first. Then you can come back for Thorin.”

He wasn’t asking her, he was telling but she didn’t mind. They weren’t exactly in a situation where they had time for niceties. She nodded in agreement and Beorn set off again for the spires. Behind them the orcs, seeing it was just Dwalin once more, returned. Bilba, twisted around to look back, saw him take a deep breath and raise his axes again to continue protecting his king.

Beorn continued on and Bilba found herself scrunching down on his back, trying to make herself as small as possible. The rain had dwindled down to a mere sprinkle at some point and it almost looked as though the sun might be trying to break through at a few points.

Bilba barely noticed it. Her shivering intensified as they reached the top and she bit back a whimper with every step nearer.

Her eyes found Kili, thankfully awake, sitting at the edge of the cliff. He clutched Fili in his arms once more, his brother limp and unmoving. As Beorn drew closer to them Bilba noticed Kili’s eyes were fixed past her, toward the forest again.

She followed his gaze and whimpered again as she caught sight of Azog and his minions gathered at the treeline. They had their backs to her, focused on something within the forest itself. Without warning a tree a few hundred yards within splintered and toppled completely. Bilba’s eyes widened and she swallowed. She didn’t know what had caused it and desperately did not want to find out.

She flung a leg over Beorn’s side and slid down to land with a hard thump on the ground. Wet mud immediately dragged at her but she struggled to her feet and pressed on. The soggy hem of her dress and coat tangled around her legs for the umpteenth time and she mentally cursed at the stupid clothes. The entire quest she’d been in practical clothing and the one time it really, truly mattered she was trapped in something not only impractical but wildly oversized.

Kili didn’t seem to note her arrival, even when she dropped down next to him. “Kili? Kili!” She slapped him lightly on the cheek, trying to draw his attention.

He looked at her finally, his eyes vacant. “Bilba?” he asked, his voice dull. “What are you doing here?”

Bilba reached up and slid a hand through the wet strands of his hair, feeling along the back of his skull. Almost immediately her hand found a large welt and a slickness. Kili hissed in pain and when Bilba pulled her hand out it was tinted red.

“Ok,” she said, “Ok, this is okay.” When Bungo had been very young he’d fallen out of a tree once and hit his head on the ground. He’d been much like Kili, disoriented and confused, but he’d recovered after a few days and had been fine. Kili would be too. She was sure of it.

A shout sounded suddenly and she turned to see Azog and his cronies charging right at them. Bilba screamed and ducked, burying her face against Kili’s neck and grabbing onto his shirt. He didn’t react, seemingly unaware of their peril.

A roar rang out and she looked just in time to see Beorn launch himself right at the Azog and the two who'd carried Fili and Kili.

The fight didn’t last long.

Beorn ripped the throats out of the three wargs before they’d made it halfway. The two minion orcs were thrown in several directions, pieces of them spiraling through the air before they landed with splats in the mud.

That left only Azog. Bilba watched as Beorn slowly stepped so that he stood directly in front of her, protecting her from the orc.

Azog, from what she could see past Beorn, had his mace out, the head raised slightly.

 ** _“So,”_** he growled, **_“the pet has a pet of her own, does she? Do you really think it will save you?”_**

 ** _“He already has,”_** Bilba whispered. **_“Who do you have to save you, Azog?”_**

Azog snarled and then lunged forward, raising the mace as he did.

Beorn didn’t even bother engaging him. The great bear stepped forward, ducked the mace, and grabbed the orc around the midsection. A second later he reared back and Azog was suddenly flying through the air.

Bilba lifted her head as he soared over her.

He vanished over the edge, exactly as she had done only a short time ago.

Unlike her, however, there was no one waiting at the bottom to catch him.

In the end, after the amount of torment he'd put them through, his end was rather anticlimactic.

Thorin would be annoyed he'd missed it.

Beorn came to her, snuffling at her face and she forced a smile and rested a hand on his forehead. “Thank you.”

He huffed and then backed up and turned so his side was facing her. He laid down as flat as possible and gave her an expectant look.

Bilba nodded and stood up. Talking to Kili, she managed to get him to help her load Fili, who thankfully was still breathing if more shallowly than she would have liked, onto Beorn’s back and then got him up behind. Kili seemed more than willing to wrap both hands around Fili and hold on, the action so engraved on his soul it stayed true even in his disorientation.

Bilba clambered on behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Beorn got to his feet and they turned to go.

A loud crack sounded and another tree toppled, this one right at the treeline.

Movement came from within the forest and suddenly Glorfindel was standing there, his sword raised as he faced back into the trees.

“Glorfindel!” Bilba shouted. The elf turned to face her and she jerked at the sight of him. He was dressed head to toe in golden armor, complete with a helmet covering his hair entirely. The armor was rent in many places, mud and blood splattering it. Glorfindel was clearly exhausted, his entire body sagging as if he could barely stand. Blood matted one side of his face and one arm hung limply at his side.

“Bilba!” he shouted. “You need to leave, now!”

An unearthly shriek sounded from behind him and he turned, just as an enormous spiked ball attached to a long length of chain came flying toward him. He barely dodged it, the ball hitting the ground with a thunk that sent mud spraying into the air.

The Witch King of Angmar strode out of the forest, holding the end of the chain.

Bilba almost started hyperventilating. She leaned back and pressed her face against Kili’s back, to terrified to face the creature again.

“Go back!” a familiar voice shouted suddenly, “back to where you came from foul shadow!”

What? Concern overcoming fear, Bilba leaned to the side once more to see what was going on.

Gandalf was stepping from Mirkwood behind Angmar.

Bilba had never seen him look so poorly. She hadn’t realized it was _possible_. Much of his beard was missing, his face burned and damaged where it was missing. His robes along one side of his body were saturated with blood and, given the way he leaned on his staff, she feared it was all his.

“Gandalf,” she whispered. “No.”

As though he’d heard her Gandalf’s eyes went from the battle to where she sat. He gave her a gentle smile and something like horror settled in the very marrow of Bilba’s bones.

“No,” she repeated, tears already starting to track down her face though she’d have sworn by then she’d long since run dry, “Please no.”

Gandalf raised his arms. In one he clutched his staff. In the other his sword.

Angmar turned from Glorfindel to face Gandalf. A low, rattling hiss came from within his hood and then a voice Bilba was sure would haunt her nightmares for years to come.

“ _Foolish wizard_ ,” the voice hissed as though it came from within a corpse that had long lost the ability to speak as it once had. “ _No man may kill me_.”

Gandalf smiled. “I don’t have to kill you.” His gaze hardened and his voice, when he spoke again, was the voice of thunder itself. He straightened and seemed to grow taller, larger, an aura building around him as though the Valar themselves stood behind him.

“Go back to your master,” Gandalf brought the staff and sword together in his hands. “Go back, and tell Sauron that your defeat is only the first of many!”

With that he brought his hands down, driving the end of his staff deep into the earth. A blinding light flared out, so searing Bilba was forced to throw her hands over her eyes. Belatedly she reached forward and slid her hands over Kili’s eyes as well, knowing he was still to dazed to do it himself.

The Witch King shrieked.

A moment later the light vanished.

Bilba opened her eyes and saw Glorfindel leaning on his sword, still trying to catch his breath.

Where the Witch King had stood there was now only an empty robe and helm lying in a tangle pile on the ground.

Bilba felt a surge of relief rise up in her at the realization the Nazgul was gone…until she looked past the discarded clothing to where Gandalf had been standing.

He stood no longer. Instead he lay on his back, head tilted toward her.

His eyes were wide open, and utterly devoid of life.

Bilba’s scream instantly had Glorfindel’s head snapping up. He looked at her and then followed her gaze to where Gandalf lay.

By the time Bilba had slid off Beorn’s back and scrambled over, Glorfindel had already reached the wizard’s side.

Bilba collapsed next to him just as Glorfindel gently closed Gandalf’s eyes.

“No,” Bilba sobbed. “Gandalf, no.” She reached out and grabbed his arm, shaking him. “Please,” she begged. “Please wake up. WAKE UP.”

“Bilba,” Glorfindel slid an arm around her waist. “We need to go, come on.”

“No,” Bilba repeated. Glorfindel had risen and brought her with him and she struggled futilely against his arms. “No, Glorfindel, no.”

She kept her eyes fixed on Gandalf as Glorfindel carried her back to Beorn and settled her on his back again. “Why?” she demanded, fixing her eyes on Glorfindel. “Why are you so cold? Why do I have to leave him?”

“Because there is no time,” Glorfindel said shortly. “Your friends are dying, Bilba. Will you waste time on those already beyond your help and risk those who still need you?”

Bilba stiffened, sitting back as though he’d slapped her. Glorfindel’s eyes softened and he sighed, reaching to put a hand on her knee. “I mourn him, too,” he said gently and, indeed, she could see the grief now in his eyes, missed when she’d been in the midst of her own. “And I will mourn for him…later, when the luxury is afforded me. Now is not the time.”

Bilba nodded, sniffing and forcing herself back under control. “I need your help,” she said, her voice wavering. “Thorin’s hurt but I can’t hold him, Fili and Kili on Beorn to get back to Erebor with them.”

Glorfindel still looked exhausted but he nodded. “Alright, let’s go get Oakenshield then.”

“Okay,” Bilba whispered.

Beorn shifted under her and then they were leaving the spires, for good Bilba hoped. After all that had happened there she wouldn’t mind never setting foot in so cursed a place again. She kept her head resolutely forward as they went, refusing to look back at the still form behind them.

Glorindel walked beside her, his hand still on her knee.

He was right, Bilba thought. Grief was a luxury she didn’t have. Not when Fili, Kili and even Thorin were still alive.

“Good-bye my friend,” she whispered as they left. “You fought well. I pray you find your rest.

 

***

 

Bilba hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the boys were hurt, Dwalin thought. Fili was clearly out and Kili looked conscious in body but not present in mind.

As they neared Dwalin stepped back and bent over to grab Thorin’s arm and drag his friend over his back. He hefted him up and moved to load him on Beorn’s back even as Bilba slid off to make room.

The elf that he vaguely remembered from Mirkwood moved up on the bear’s back, reaching an arm around Thorin’s waist to anchor him in place.

Dwalin stepped back, and paused. “Wait.” He looked at Bilba. “Where are you going to fit?”

The look she returned was remarkably calm. “I can’t fit and I can’t take Glorfindel’s place because there’s no way I can hold Thorin on Beorn’s back the entire way to Erebor.”

Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak but Bilba cut him off. “There’s no time.”

She stepped up to Beorn’s head and wrapped an arm around his neck, leaning in to speak into his ear for several long minutes. The shapeshifter made a low noise and nuzzled her. Bilba stepped back and turned her gaze to Glorfindel. “Please,” she asked, “don’t let me lose anyone else today.”

The elf nodded, his face grim. “We’ll return as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” Bilba said.

Dwalin stood back and watched as the bear headed off. Glorfindel had one hand around Thorin and the other held his sword, helping keep orcs off as they waded through. Kili seemed to be doing fine keeping himself and his brother on but he’d be useless in protecting them.

They’d have to make it through the densest part of the battlefield, all the way to Erebor and then return again.

His eyes went to Bilba. She looked like she was freezing. The clothing she wore was wrapped around her in a soggy mess and her hair…he blinked. He'd missed it the first time he'd seen her but now...her hair was gone. What had she done to it? Why?

An orc appeared to challenge him and he reacted instantly. He dropped Keeper and wrapped one arm around Bilba, swinging her away from the orc even as he swing Grasper with the other, decapitating it.

He set her down behind him and barked. “Stay there,” before returning to the fight. He caught a brief glimpse of her eyes and frowned at the sorrow he found there. “Heard you screaming a few minutes ago. What was that about?”

“Gandalf died.” Her voice was flat, the words bleak.

Dwalin cursed. If they’d lost the wizard they’d lost a huge asset. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” her voice said from behind him.

Guilt clawed at Dwalin as he went back to fighting, all the while guarding the small Hobbit behind him.

He should have stood up to Thorin. He knew that. He’d watched Dain expertly maneuver Thorin into doing what he wanted.

He could have done that. Any of them could.

He didn’t know why the others hadn’t. For him…it had simply been blind loyalty.

No, he corrected as he swung at another orc, not blind. He’d known it was wrong. He’d known that Fili was in the right. He’d understood that what Bilba did had been with Thorin’s best interests at heart. They always had been.

He’d known. It’d just been easier to side with Thorin is all. He’d told himself Thorin was his king, his best friend, his shield brother. He’d argued to himself that Fili and Kili were just boys, that Bilba was just an outsider.

The guilt ate at him.

She wasn’t an outsider, hadn’t been for some time. She was as much a member of their Company as any of the others.

She’d been just as deserving of his loyalty.

She hadn’t betrayed them.

They had betrayed her.

And he honestly didn’t know how to even begin apologizing for that.

 

***

 

Dain sloughed back in the direction of where he’d left Dwalin and Thorin, muttering to himself with every step.

It looked as though the battle was finally turning solidly in their favor. Even from where he stood he saw fewer and fewer orcs every second. More and more he found himself having to fight only through mud and not a crush of orc and mud.

He had no idea why Mordor had marched on them, probably never would, but he had no doubt they’d sent a solid message about how foolish an idea it was.

Even the rain had let up and the sun was beginning to break through in spots.

It hadn’t happened a moment too soon.

The elves, men and dwarves he passed were exhausted, injured, dragging.

He was no better. Every inch of his body felt caked in gore and mud, so thick he was convinced it wouldn’t wash off if he soaked in a bath for a full day.

Everything ached beyond that, to the point he couldn’t tell what was actually injured and what was simply exhaustion. His body felt heavy, the axe in his hand seemed to weigh a ton but still he pressed on. He was a dwarf of Durin’s line. He wasn’t about to be the first to give into exhaustion.

He caught sight of Dwalin still in the same place he’d left him, but frowned as he saw no sign of Thorin. Perhaps he’d peeled off as Dain had done to fight in another area? It would be odd, though, for him to do that without Dwalin in tow.

Dwalin, he noticed, was fighting in an odd half circle as though he protected something behind him though whatever it was was far too small to be Thorin.

He sighed and hefted his axe, cleaving through a small pack of orcs that stood between him and Dwalin.

As he drew up alongside he glanced behind the other dwarf, and promptly did a double take.

A small woman with a shorn head and oversized clothes crouched behind Dwalin, hands on her knees and giant eyes turned up to study him. She was as soaked and covered in grime and gore as the rest of them though he saw no sign of a weapon and was convinced she couldn’t possibly have been in the battle. She wouldn’t have lasted a minute.

“Who are you?” He asked incredulously.

She blinked, confusion marring her features for a brief instance, before clearing again. “Bilba Baggins. Who are you?”

Bilba Baggins? Dain thought. This was the burglar? The traitor of Erebor? This little slip of a woman?

“Dain!” Dwalin barked. “Pay attention!”

Dain obeyed, turning just as a pair of orcs charged them. Instinctively he adjusted his body to block the woman from their charge. Traitor or not, she had no weapon and was clearly at their mercy. Having her lawfully executed after the King had passed judgment on her was one thing. Standing by and watching orcs kill her was another entirely. He wasn’t a monster. Had Thorin ordered her death he would have seen it carried out mercifully and quickly.

Of course, now that he’d seen her…

“That’s really Bilba Baggins?” he said, as he moved in unison with Dwalin. “The traitor who bewitched Thorin’s heirs?”

Out of the corner of her eye he saw her twitch. She’d heard him.

Dwalin grunted, his axe burying itself in an orc’s stomach. “She didn’t bewitch them. Thorin banished them.”

Dain nearly froze in the act of killing another orc foolish enough to challenge him. “He did what?”

“You heard me,” Dwalin growled. “Banished the lot of them because they had the courage to do what the rest of us didn’t.”

“Which was?”

“Stand up to him when he was being a fool.”

Dain frowned. It was rapidly becoming clear he didn’t have nearly all the facts. “Speaking of Thorin, where is he?”

“Got himself beat upside the head by an orc,” Dwalin said, swinging his axes over his head at several oncoming orcs. “Boys got hurt as well. Bilba got a couple friends to help, then stayed behind to give them a better chance of reaching Erebor.”

Dain glanced behind him and found the woman still crouching quietly behind them. Her eyes found his and then flickered away again.

She’d risked staying in the battle in order to get Thorin to safety? After he’d cast her out of Erebor?

Her voice spoke up behind him again, quiet and cultured and nothing at all like the seductress he’d pictured her as. “Excuse me, Master Dwarf, but is that a slingshot at your waist?”

He turned again and saw her standing up, a rock clutched tightly in one hand. Her face was scared but determined.

He’d pictured her as Dwalin’s size.

She barely came up to his breastbone.

He’d definitely have to consider the notion that he might have misjudged her.

 

***

 

Bilba leaned out around Dwalin and sent another rock sailing straight into the temple of an orc. None of the blows she was landing were enough to be lethal but the axes of Dwalin and Dain following them certainly were.

As she fought the words Dain had spoken ran through her mind.

Thorin had still been blaming her. Not just in the theft of the Arkenstone but in Fili and Kili going with her.

He apparently held her solely responsible.

Something inside her heart seemed to shrivel at the realization she’d still been foolishly holding onto hope.

Thorin wasn’t going to come for her.

She studied Dwalin and Dain’s backs as they fought in front of her. They fought as one, two dwarves who’d clearly lived and trained closely enough that they could read each other’s movements as well as their own.

She thought of the others in the Company, most of them related, all of them knowing more about the other’s backgrounds and histories than she would ever know.

She’d been fooling herself. She’d thought seven short months with them meant something. That it made her a part of them.

But it didn’t. It had been a lie. She hadn’t belonged then and she didn’t now.

She reached down for another rock and was surprised to find an entire pile of them. Glancing up she saw Dain grinning at her. He twirled his axe in one hand and nodded toward an outcropping of rock that she now saw had a large chunk missing from it. “Axes of the dwarves aren’t just for show,” he quipped.

She smiled back, an expression that vanished as soon as he turned back.

She understood now.

It was time to grow up and stop dreaming.

She didn't belong here and never had.

And, when this was over, if she survived, she was doing what she should have probably done all the way back in Rivendell.

She was going home. 

 

***

 

The battle dragged on for several more hours.

In other areas of the battlefield the rest of the Company fought.

Dori and Nori clustered around Ori who'd broken his leg early in the battle. There had been no way to get him off the battlefield so they'd simply holed up as best they could and battled on. The thought of leaving him never crossed either of their minds.

Gloin fought alongside Oin, who traveled amongst the soldiers and gave aid as he could. Gloin acted as his brother's ears and Oin never even lifted his head as shadows fell over him, trusting completely in his brother's protection.

Bifur, Bofur and Bombur fought as a single unit. Bombur, surprisingly, proved a formidable warrior despite his size and Bofur as well despite his training as a toymaker and not a warrior. Later they would both attribute their skill to Bifur, citing that growing up he insisted that they know how to protect themselves.

Balin found himself fighting alongside the elven prince, Legolas. Together the two were a solid team, Balin striking low while Legolas went high. Over the course of the battle they forged a solid friendship that lasted for years after.

Dwalin continued to fight with Dain while Bilba took refuge behind them, coming out to wield her slingshot with incredibly accuracy. When Dwalin paused to ask her about why she'd never brought it up as a weapon she could use she'd simply rolled her eyes and made a comment about dwarves and their obsession with pointy things. Dain had snorted with laughter that he quickly covered. He found, as time progressed, it was easier to see how it was that Baggins had so ensnared the hearts of the Princes. He was also beginning to get an inkling of why his cousin seemed so angry over her betrayal. He imagined they would have a long talk later over what truly lay behind his anger.

At the gates of Erebor, Beorn arrived and safely transported Thorin, Fili and Kili into the hands of the healers who had set up camp just outside the gates. Thorin and Kili were determined to be injured but not in mortal peril. Though Fili was badly hurt the elven healers expressed confidence in their ability to save him.

After this Glorfindel and Beorn both returned to Bilba only to find their way back temporarily blocked. They ended up fighting together until the last of the orcs was finally slain.

On a ruined section of Dale's outer walls Bard released another arrow, his fingers dripping blood from the number of times he'd pulled it back, and paused as he could find no more orcs to fell.

Down below Thranduil, heavily favoring a leg and bleeding from a gash to the shoulder, sighed in relief and sagged against the ruins.

The word continued to spread until the entire field rang with cries not of pain but of victory.

After days of bloody fighting and terrible loss the Battle of the Five Armies was finally over.

 


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah! The FINAL chapter! Of Part I that is! :D

Bilba pushed her way through throngs of celebrating men, elves and dwarves. She paused only long enough to ask the occasional elf or man if they’d seen Bard, Thranduil or Prince Legolas and upon hearing a negative answer, continued her trek.

Once the fighting had thinned out Beorn and Glorfindel had returned and picked her up. Dwalin and Dain had chosen to stay behind and Glorfindel had also leapt off and vanished into the remnants of the battle before she could think to say anything about Mirkwood.

Dain had helped her onto Beorn’s back. As he’d done so Dwalin had stepped up as though he wished to say something to her but Bilba had turned away.

She’d heard what he’d said to Dain. He admitted he should have stood up for her alongside Fili and Kili. He’d understood Thorin wasn’t in his right mind.

In many ways, the admission made the feeling of betrayal worse, igniting the first spark of anger where, before, there had only been grief and pain. It hadn’t been a mistake. It hadn’t been a misunderstanding. Dwalin had known exactly what he was doing and had chosen to leave her, Fili and Kili to face Thorin’s wrath alone.

She supposed, now that her eyes had been opened so to speak, she could understand it. She was the outsider. She didn’t belong. Of course he and the rest of the Company were going to pick Thorin over her.

Still, though, it was one thing for them to have betrayed  _h_ _er_. It was something else entirely to have stood by and done nothing while Thorin banished his own nephews.

Thorin. Her gut clenched at the mere thought of his name. She was starting to feel anger toward him as well. After all, where did he get off saying she was a sorcerer and had bewitched Fili and Kili? It wasn’t enough he called her a traitor and a liar?

That was only one part of it, though. When it came to Thorin her emotions were a mess. There was pain and hurt, betrayal, anger.

And there was fear.

So, so much fear, and it grew in intensity with every passing moment.  Her hand went to her stomach, resting on the curve there.  Then her mind went to Thorin. Thorin, who was a King and now had a Kingdom to go with the title. Thorin with his army and his weapons and his servants so blindly loyal they would follow him even when they knew he was wrong. 

She wanted to go _home_.

Before she could no longer hide her pregnancy.

Before he found out.

Before he came to take her children from her.

A voice called her name and she turned, breathing a sigh of relief as she saw Legolas coming toward her. The Elven Prince was covered in blood and grime, his clothes torn in various places but he moved easily and without pain.

He came to a stop in front of her. “Bilba,” he said in surprise, “I’d heard you’d returned and were looking for me and my father. What happened? Why didn’t you stay in Mirkwood?”

Bilba took a deep breath and told him everything that had happened at the elven palace as quickly and succinctly as she could. As she did she saw his eyes widen in shock, his entire body straightening as though she’d physically struck him.

Once she’d finished speaking, he swallowed hard, his hands clenched in fists. Then he simply nodded. “Come on. We need to find my father.”

He strode away and Bilba hurried after him.

The elves were far more willing to answer their prince than a small, oddly dressed hobbit, and they were soon directed back out onto the battlefield itself.

Bilba stayed next to Legolas and tried as best she could not to look but it was nearly impossible not to see the horror. There were bodies everywhere, piles of them jumbled together like dolls tossed carelessly on the floor. The rain had finally stopped but the ground was so saturated that large puddles and small rivers ran about the field, most of them tinged red.

They entered the ruins of Dale. It was harder to navigate there as the rubble had caused the bodies to be even more densely packed. Several times Legolas had to help her scramble around, or over, mounds of the dead.

Elves, men and dwarves moved through them, sectioning out the wounded and taking them back to the camps. The wounded were everywhere, their eyes tight with pain, hands out to her as she passed, asking for help. Everyone needed help though, here and in Mirkwood. She pointed searchers to the wounded as best she could, assured those crying for help that it would soon arrive, and pressed on.

They found Thranduil speaking to Bard under the shadow of a destroyed pavilion. As she neared them, she could tell the two sported injuries but neither seemed serious enough to threaten their lives.

“Father,” Legolas called out. Thranduil and Bard both turned. Bard physically jerked at the sight of her.

“Bilba.” He walked toward her. “What are you doing here?”

Bilba took a deep breath and stepped up to both Bard and Thranduil. For the second time she recounted everything that had happened in Mirkwood, from the fire to the fall of the palace.

Unlike his son, who wore his emotions openly, Thranduil’s reaction was to simply grow stiller, his face perfectly blank.

He turned his gaze to Legolas and, when he spoke, Bilba almost would have thought he sounded bored.

“We’ll leave immediately.”

“The Men will go with you,” Bard said. “Our people are there as well. As are my children.”

Thranduil nodded and then strode away.

Legolas hesitated and smiled at Bilba, though it was tense. “He’s really angry. The orcs will regret setting foot in Mirkwood.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Bilba said with a weak smile.

Legolas looked at Bard for a moment and Bilba saw the man give a slight nod of acknowledgement. After that the Prince strode away to join his father.

Bilba expected Bard to take his leave as well but, somewhat to her surprise, he stayed.

“Don’t feel you have to stay on my account,” Bilba offered, ignoring the way her gut twisted at the thought of being left alone with nothing but the dead for company. “I’m sure you’re in a hurry. I’d just slow you down.”

He frowned. “What do you plan to do now?”

She shrugged, turning her gaze to a bit of rubble near her feet. “I plan to go home. You already know there’s no place for me here.”

Bard sat down on the piece of rubble she’d been staring at, leaning forward to catch her gaze. “Oakenshield should be ashamed. Even if you hadn’t come halfway across Middle Earth to aid a cause that wasn’t your own, just the fact he’s treating a young woman so poorly…it’s dishonorable.”

He didn’t mention her pregnancy, for which she was grateful.

“It is what it is,” she said, her voice quiet. She raised her head. “I thought I’d follow your groups to Mirkwood. I’d like to see that your children are alright.” She grinned. “Speaking of which, I think you deserve a medal for your parenting skills. Your children are a credit to you.”

Bard looked embarrassed. “My wife made a good start. Anything I did merely built off what she’d already instilled in them.”

Bilba smiled. “She must have been lovely.”

Bard nodded. “She was.” He studied her. “What will you do, after Mirkwood?”

“Find my way home,” Bilba said. She clasped her hands together. The temperature was still low, a sharp breeze winding through the collapsed columns, bringing with it the promise of yet more rain.

“We’re heading into winter,” Bard said, his eyes narrowed. “It won’t be safe to travel.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Bilba whispered. The fear started to grow again. If she stayed much longer it might just choke her. “The longer I’m here the harder it will be to hide the pregnancy from Thorin. If he finds out--”

“You’re afraid of him.” Bard sounded both startled and saddened.

“I am,” Bilba said. “He’s been spreading the word that I’ve bewitched his nephews and I already know he thinks I’m a liar, thief and traitor. What do you think he’ll do when he finds out I’m carrying his children?”

Bard stood up and Bilba flinched in surprise.

Stepping forward he crouched down, putting himself on eye level with her. “You went back for my children and did your utmost to protect them in Mirkwood. The least I can do is return the favor. I will see to it you get back home, if I have to deliver you there myself.”

“You can’t do that,” Bilba gasped. “The Master is dead. The men look to you. They need you.”

He shrugged and stood up. “There are others who can take my place.” He grinned down at her. “Besides, I’ve always tried to be a man my children can look up to. How do you think they would look at me if I allowed a small woman to head off alone, in winter, trying to find her home?”

Bilba swallowed hard, her eyes burning. She nodded shakily, not trusting herself to speak.

“Come on,” Bard said, indicating the route she’d taken to get there. “What do you say we get out of here? I’m a bit tired of the scent of death.”

Bilba felt a massive sense of relief, so intense she nearly staggered.

She would go home, but she wouldn’t have to go alone.

 

***

 

The healing tents had been set up as near the gates of Erebor as possible to try and protect them from the battle. Currently there was a lot of activity as men and elves rushed back and forth to get ready to depart. They were leaving the supplies and equipment and a number of healers were staying to deal with the injured elves and men who would also be left behind but, as a whole, the area would soon primarily be dwarven.

Thorin would no doubt be ecstatic, Bilba thought.

She found the tent she wanted easily enough, it was the one with the two burly looking dwarven guards stationed out front.

The two burly guards who completely missed the hobbit that slipped in behind their backs.

Inside the tent looked much the same as the last one she’d been in with rows of cots separated by thin curtains. Most of the beds were filled and healers bustled about, creating a scene of barely organized chaos.

Bilba made her way through carefully, studying the faces of each person as she passed. Finally, near the back of the tent, she found what she was looking for.

Someone had taken down the curtain between Fili and Kili and pushed their beds closer together. Fili was stripped to the waist, thick, bandages wound around his torso. He’d been cleaned up from the muck and mire of the battle and, aside from being far too pale still, looked better than the last time she’d seen him. Several blankets had been bundled around him and Bilba found herself offering a silent prayer that he didn’t get sick from being so exposed to the elements.

Kili lay on his side on his own cot, eyes fixed on his brother. Bilba stopped at the foot of his bed and stood hesitantly, unwilling to disturb him.

Eventually Kili must have felt her eyes on him because he turned suddenly to look and immediately grinned in obvious relief.

“Bilba! There you are!” He struggled to a sitting position and she hurried to help him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Like his brother, he’d been cleaned up as well, and it occurred to her suddenly how filthy she was in contrast.

“Oh,” She said, jerking her hands off him and starting to rise. “I’m so sorry! I’m going to get you dirty again.”

“Nonsense,” Kili said, tightening his grip and pulling her back down. “It’s fine. How are you?”

“I’m alright,” Bilba said. She felt a knot inside her loosen at the sight of clarity back in his eyes, a sharpness that hadn’t been there the last time she’d spoken to him on the edge of the Spires.

“Good,” Kili said. He frowned. “What happened to you? When I came to you were gone. Next thing I remember is Beorn charging back up with you. How’d you get away from the Spires?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bilba said quietly. “How’s Fili?”

His eyes narrowed, aware she was blatantly changing the subject but he let it go, his eyes going to his brother and softening. “They think he’s going to be okay. Bard’s children did an amazing job. If they hadn’t done what they did he probably wouldn’t have survived.”

“That’s such a relief,” Bilba said. She hesitated. “What about Thorin and the others?”

“Everyone’s alive,” Kili said shortly, his eyes darkening. “Few broken bones, cuts and other things. Fili’s the worst off by far.” He hesitated, his eyes cutting past her for a moment. “Uncle will be fine. He’s still unconscious but they’re hoping he’ll wake up soon.”

Bilba felt a cold feeling settle in the pit of her stomach. She turned, following his gaze, and saw a section twenty feet or so away that had been completely partitioned off. “He’s back there?”

Kili nodded and then flinched in surprise as Bilba got to her feet. “It’s alright; he’s not even awake yet.”

“But he will be soon.” Bilba wrung her hands, her panic rising. “And I’d rather not be here. I just wanted to make sure you and Fili were okay.”

Well, that and say good-bye but she wasn’t going to tell him that. He’d insist on going with her, citing the selfish promise she’d dragged out of him, and it would tear him apart to have to leave Fili. She wouldn’t do that to him.

“I heard that Thorin doesn’t blame you and Fili for taking my side,” She said now. “He thinks I’ve bewitched you. I’m sure he’ll accept you both back.”

Kili stared at her. “Why does it sound like there’s an implied ‘when I’m gone’ in there?”

Bilba mentally kicked herself. She’d always been bad at things like this. “That’s not what I meant,” she lied, hoping desperately her lying skills had improved. “I just meant he didn’t blame you. He blamed me.”

“I don’t care,” a new voice said groggily. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Bilba’s head whipped around almost as fast as Kili’s. Fili’s eyes were open, his face creased with pain he hadn’t felt while unconscious.

Kili nearly lunged off his own cot, jumping to his brother’s side. Bilba lost sight of Fili as Kili sat down.

Bilba backed up a step, watching the two. She should move forward, she knew. Talk to them, extend the last few moments she’d have with them.

It was highly unlikely she’d ever see them again.

Her throat tightened and the scene blurred as her eyes watered. Quickly she turned and made her way back to the front of the tent. The armies were already moving out. She’d waited until the last second on purpose. She knew that, had she had more time, she’d have lingered far too long.

It would have simply made it harder.

Struggling to control herself, she exited the tent to see Bard waiting a few feet away, holding the reigns of a horse. Around him, and the tents, a slow exodus had started. The elves and men were exhausted, wounded, traumatized. It wasn’t an army marching toward Mirkwood, it was a refugee camp.

Bard helped her onto the horse and then pulled himself up behind her. A few minutes later they were part of the trek, heading to Mirkwood.

Bilba shut her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, fighting against sobs that threatened to wrench their way out of her throat.

It was through sheer force of will that she didn’t look back.

The first sob finally broke through when they passed under the first trees of Mirkwood.

Bard wrapped an arm around her from behind and simply held her while she cried.

 

***

 

They ran into orcs almost as soon as they entered the forest, though not nearly as many as Bilba would have expected. The army made quick work of them and moved on in silence, to weary to celebrate even so small a victory.

When they neared the palace Thranduil separated them into groups, placing some into a blockade around his home while choosing others to go in with him. As he neared Bilba he frowned at her and said, “You should stay out here. I will not have one in your condition threatened when there is no need.”

There was no cruelty in his voice, only the same seeming disinterest he always had. Remembering what Legolas had said, however, about him being angry when she’d noticed nothing, she decided to stop assuming she knew what he thought.

“I will,” she said. “Thank you.”

He nodded and moved off. Bard dismounted and helped her down, setting her up near the back of the line but still well surrounded by soldiers. He frowned at her, clearly upset at the prospect of leaving her. “You’ll be alright?”

Bilba nodded. “I will. You should go find your children.”

“She’ll be fine,” a new voice said. “I’ll keep an eye on her while you’re gone.”

Glorfindel pushed through the crowd and sat down next to her. Well, collapsed might have been a more apt description for what he did but Bilba decided the polite thing to do would be to ignore that.

Bard didn’t look convinced and Bilba couldn’t blame him. Glorfindel looked terrible. His armor was rent in places, actually torn like it had been fabric instead of metal. He was so covered in blood and gore that his hair was nearly black instead of platinum and he swayed slightly where he sat.

His eyes narrowed at them. “Stop staring at me like that. I can still fight if needed.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Bilba said quietly. She moved forward and sat down next to him, so close they were nearly touching. She smiled at Bard. “Go on. We’ll be fine.”

Bard gave an unsure nod and then went to join the others as they headed toward the palace.

After they were gone, Bilba hesitated and then turned to Glorfindel. “Did you see if anyone retrieved Gandalf?”

Pain lanced through her at the thought of his body left out in the open. He deserved better than that.

He gave her a tired smile. “Don’t worry, little one.” He looked away, his gaze set. “He was my friend too. I’ll see to it that he’s taken care of.”

“Ok.” She hesitated and then asked, “Did the Witch King do all that to you?” She indicated his armor.

He snorted. “Some of it. I ran into his eight friends before I finally found him. It was a…surprise to say the least.”

All nine, Bilba thought in shock. He’d taken on all nine Nazgul and lived.

“Gandalf came to my aid,” Glorfindel continued. “After we were able to drive them off we went after the Witch King. You saw the end of that encounter.”

Bilba studied her hands, idly picking at the encrusted blood under her nails. “So is it true then? That Sauron has returned? I was hoping maybe just somehow the Witch King was causing problems on his own.”

He sighed. “He has, though at the moment I suspect he is not yet back to his full strength. We still have time.”

Bilba thought back to the army that had marched on Erebor. That was Sauron not at full strength? What would happen when he did reach his full power?

A shudder ran through her and she rested a hand lightly on her stomach, it was quickly becoming a new habit. This news was all the more reason for her to go home. The farther from Mordor she was the safer her children would be.

Glorfindel gave her a sidelong look. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing here? I would have thought you’d be back with your dwarven friends.”

Bilba gave a bitter laugh. “Turns out they weren’t my friends after all.” She sighed and, in a low voice, staring at her hands the entire time, she told him…everything. He gave no reaction as she spoke. He simply sat next to her and listened.

When she was finished he reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You carry a heavy burden for one so young.”

Bilba laughed. “I don’t feel young.”

“That,” Glorfindel said, “I understand.” He shifted, finding a better position. “I need to return to Rivendell. I’ll take you with me.” He settled back on his hands. “It won’t be as hard as you think. Winter is on its way but the climate is more temperate in your part of the world, it won’t be as bad the further we go. We can also take the Gladden River Pass, it will keep us low enough to avoid the snow at the peaks.”

He continued, outlining their journey as though it were a simply walk in the countryside.

Bilba felt her lower lip starting to tremble again and she tangled her hands in her skirt, struggling to regain her control.

She was not going to start crying every time someone was nice to her for goodness sakes.

“Thank you,” she whispered. That was two offers of help where she’d never expected a single one. Glorfindel escorting her meant Bard could remain behind with his children and the people who needed him. Glorfindel would also have more experience with the journey. She wasn’t sure if Bard had ever traveled much farther than Mirkwood and would never forgive herself if he was injured trying to take her home.

His only response was to smile and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

 

***

 

As it turned out there was little left to be done in the palace.

Aragorn was apparently a natural born leader, and more than slightly crazy when it came to battle, and had rallied the remaining elves against the orcs. Together they’d driven them from the palace almost entirely so that by the time Thranduil entered with his soldiers the orcs had been caught, and subsequently crushed, between the two forces.

Bilba and the others were allowed inside after that. Bard found his children among the rest of the Lake-town survivors, alive and unharmed.

Thranduil, much to Bilba’s surprise, assigned her massive private quarters. Bilba’s first priority upon getting them was to head to the bath house. She spent over an hour in the heated pool, scrubbing until her skin was raw, but clean. She cleaned her clothing as best she could. It didn’t look all that great when she was done but it was serviceable and all she had, so it would have to do.

After that she returned to her room and slept for sixteen hours, waking up to a ravenous hunger that let her know her children would much appreciate food.

She stayed in Mirkwood for two weeks as Glorfindel needed time himself to recover.

Bilba spent the time helping clean the palace and repair the damage done by the invasion. She heard word the destruction outside caused by the fire was massive but, with time, would also heal.

About a week into her stay she returned to her room to find three brand new outfits laid out on her bed. Pants, shirts, cloaks and heavy boots, made for travel during winter. Bilba was so excited she shrieked and jumped up and down. She wasted no time stripping off the dress and coat and putting the new clothing on. It fit perfectly and, as she studied the fabric, she noted it was designed to be let out, meaning she’d be able to wear it even as her pregnancy progressed.

The next time she saw Glorfindel he commented on being glad he’d gotten the sizes right when ordering the clothing and she’d responded by hugging him for fifteen minutes straight.

The two weeks passed quickly, and happily much to Bilba’s surprise. She was rarely alone. Glorfindel, Legolas, Aragorn, Bard or his children were often in her company and she spent many hours in pleasant conversation with them. She reclaimed her ring from Tilda and threaded it on a chain around her neck, replacing the ring belonging to Thorin that had once rested there.

She usually ate her meals with all of them, plus Thranduil. As she spent more time with the elven king she began to understand she had indeed misjudged him. Though he had his faults, as everyone did, it was clear he was an excellent king and a deeply involved father. Just the way he looked at his son when he thought no one saw told her all she felt she’d ever need to know about him.

Near the end of the two weeks she ended up telling Aragorn about her pregnancy. He was the only one of her new group to not know and she felt bad keeping him in the dark. She also, by that time, found she trusted him enough to keep silent and not let the news get back to Thorin or Erebor.

That was the only real negative part about her stay in Mirkwood. She held a constant fear that, every passing day brought the risk of Thorin, who was no doubt awake, finding out and coming after her.

As much as she enjoyed her time in the palace of the elven king she needed to leave, and quickly.

 

***

 

Bilba took a deep breath and smoothed down the edges of her coat. It was the one Kili had given her back at Erebor. It still held stains she’d been unable to get out and was frayed and patched in places. It looked out of place over her new clothes but she’d found it hard to give up. When she’d awakened in Erebor her weapons had been gone, meaning the coat was all she had left of the dwarves.

Well, her mind supplied, aside from the babies she now carried. That was a pretty big thing they’d left with her. She giggled at the glaring oversight and picked up her pack. The elves had provided them with ponies and supplies to get them home and had also sent word ahead so that Rivendell would know to look for them.

She headed to her door and opened it to find Bard and his family standing there.

“Bilba!” Tilda jumped forward and threw her arms around her. “I’m going to miss you!”

Bilba returned the hug. “I’m going to miss you too.”

She pulled back and found Sigrid waiting her turn.

“Don’t you dare get hurt,” Sigrid said, her eyes red. “I’ll be really pissed off if you do.”

Bilba laughed and hugged her. “I’ll do my best.”

Bain was next. “Will you write?”

“I will,” Bilba said, and she meant it. She would keep in touch. She _wanted_ to keep in touch. Sigrid, Tilda and Bain already knew she was pregnant, mainly because they were too smart for their own good and had demanded to know why it was so vitally important she travel in winter instead of waiting for spring.

Bard knelt in front of her after his children had moved back. His eyes were troubled. “Are you sure about this?”

It bothered him not to be going with her. It had taken her most of the two weeks to convince him he’d be better off staying. The journey home would take a minimum of seven months, far longer if they ended up having to find a safe place to wait out the worst of winter. He couldn’t be away from his children or his people that long, especially not at that time. They were homeless and looking toward the coming cold. They needed him.

She hugged him, tangling her hands in the back of his coat. Bard and his children had become important to her in just the short time she’d known them and they would be facing hardships every bit as challenging as the ones ahead of her. All of them had been there for her at vital times when she needed someone.

He hugged her back, arms going around her waist and tightening as though he feared it would be the last time he would see her.

She prayed it was not.

Pulling back, she smiled at him. “I’ll be alright. Thranduil has more than supplied us for the journey and I’ll have probably the best escorts anyone could want.”

Aragorn had announced he would be going with them as well. He needed to return to Rivendell anyway and, as he’d told her, it was his sworn duty to protect her people, no matter where they were.

“Aragorn’s a Ranger,” she said now, putting her hands on Bard’s shoulders. “If anyone knows about surviving outside it’s him and Glorfindel has thousands of years of experience. I couldn’t be safer.”

Bard nodded. “I will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Bilba whispered. “I’ll write when I’m home.”

He nodded. They both knew it would be a long, long time before she was in any position to write meaning his worry for her was only just beginning.

She wouldn’t deny she wasn’t worried herself. The journey would be difficult and, in addition to that, the speculation that her pregnancy would last a total of eighteen months was just that, speculation. She could literally give birth any time between twelve months, the duration of a hobbit pregnancy, and twenty-four, the duration of a dwarven pregnancy.

If the pregnancy did last the eighteen months, even if they were delayed, if they had to winter somewhere before moving on…she was five months already, heading rapidly into her sixth. If her pregnancy did last a full eighteen months it meant she had thirteen months left, plenty of time to get home even with travel delays.

If, however, the Healer had been wrong and her pregnancy came to term sooner…at minimum, assuming they were able to make it home in just seven months, she’d be twelve months pregnant. If the babies had been fully hobbit she’d be due. She imagined it would be somewhat longer since they were half dwarven, but how much longer? What if she were only pregnant fourteen months? Or fifteen? Not only that, but the simple progression of her pregnancy at all would slow her down. How large would she get? How easily would she be able to handle travel?

She took a deep breath, trying to still the constant worries swirling inside her, and stepped forward. Bard and his family followed behind her.

The faster they got going the better.

She wanted to give birth at home, not on the road.

 

***

 

Thranduil and Legolas were waiting for her at the gates, much as they had done the last time she’d left. That time she’d been surrounded by those she’d thought loved her, and by one in particular she’d loved most of all.

Now she walked with Bard, his children, and the empty spots in her heart where a Company of dwarves had once resided.

She stopped in front of the King and his son and carefully dropped to one knee before them, bowing her head with ease.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “You have given me sanctuary when I desperately needed it and asked for nothing in return. I will forever be in your debt.”

Legolas knelt in front of her, took her hands and raised her back up. “Friends need not bow before one another,” he said, his voice formal. He glanced at his father who, somewhat to Bilba’s surprise, gave a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement.

Legolas grinned and hugged her. Bilba returned it, her grip tight. The closer she came to leaving the more fear she found ready and willing to attack her at any moment. Fears of the journey, her pregnancy, Thorin finding out…and the reception she would face at home.

That one had always been there to some extent but it had been so far in the future she’d been able to ignore it.

She wouldn’t be able to ignore it much longer. She already knew what happened to young girls in the Shire who unexpectedly turned up pregnant with no husband, or even beau, in sight. How much worse, she wondered, would it be for her? Running off into the wild with a group of complete strangers, all male, only to return alone and pregnant?

Valar, what had she been thinking?

She pulled back and saw Legolas studying her, his eyes narrowed with concern. Suddenly, he turned to his father and said, “I think friends also do not let friends make dangerous journeys without them. I want to go with her.”

“Legolas!” Bilba said, gripping his forearms. “That’s not necessary!”

He rolled his eyes. “I know it’s not necessary,” he said with a grin, “but I wouldn’t have to spend the next however many months worrying about you if I’m actually with you at the time.” He shrugged. “Besides, I haven’t been to Rivendell in some time and I do have distant kin there. Might as well go visit them.”

Thranduil shook his head. “You are as impulsive as I was at that age. Very well, you may go if you wish.” His eyes turned to Bilba. “I do wish you safe passage, Bilba.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Bilba said.

The guards threw open the gates and she walked out into the early morning sun. Glorfindel and Aragorn stood at the top of the steps waiting for her. As she came out, Aragorn grinned at her and said, “You have a couple of visitors, Bilba.”

Bilba blinked in confusion and a spike of fear raced through her. “What?”

The two stepped aside, allowing her to see straight down the steps. At the base stood Beorn in bear form…and next to him…

Bilba shrieked and ran down the stairs, flinging herself into Kili’s arms so hard she physically knocked him back a step.

He laughed and wrapped both arms around her.

A hand fell on her shoulder and Bilba disengaged in order to turn and, much more gently, wrap her arms around Fili. He was still pale, and somewhat haggard looking, but much of the life and vibrancy had returned to him and one only had to look at the cheer Kili carried to know how much better Fili was doing.

Bilba pulled back and went to Beorn, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his fur.

After a few minutes she pulled back and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“What are we doing here?” Fili answered. “What are you doing here? It took two weeks for those blasted healers to finally let me out and we spent every second worrying you’d set off for the Shire completely alone! Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

Bilba flinched. “I’m sorry. I told you that Thorin didn’t blame you. I thought, if I left, he’d accept you back in. You could go home.”

Kili rolled his eyes. “As soon as you told us that we demanded to be put in a different tent, as far from Uncle as possible.”

“He tried to talk to us later,” Fili said, “but we refused to see him. Neither of us wanted to hear anything about how we weren’t responsible for our own actions.”

Bilba tensed, pressing back into Beorn. “Thorin’s awake?”

Fili studied her and she saw his gaze soften. “For the most part. He picked up a pretty nasty cold a day or two after the battle and has been bedridden inside Erebor ever since.”

“It worked out well for us,” Kili piped in. “He didn’t bother us again. The rest of the Company stayed away too, probably assuming we’d refuse to see them as well.”

“And they’d be right,” Fili muttered. He scowled at her. “Anyway, the second I was deemed well enough to move we left. We were afraid you’d been on the road for upwards of two weeks, alone.”

“We stopped here first,” Kili broke in, “and they said you were here and about to leave.” He sighed, his eyes fixed on her. “We really were worried, Bilba. You know I swore to stay with you. Why did you leave?”

“Because I was afraid of Thorin,” Bilba said, tears threatening at the back of her eyes. “And the longer I stayed the less I’d be able to hide and Fili was so hurt and I didn’t want to force you to choose between him and me, it wasn’t fair…”

She stopped talking as Kili took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her again. “Idiot,” he muttered, “You could have told us. We’d have come joined you as soon as we were able.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilba said, her voice breaking on a sob. “I didn’t want you to have to choose.”

Fili sighed, stepping up next to her. “And who’s the one always getting so angry when choice is denied her? We’re adults, Bilba, just like you. Let us make our own decisions.”

Bilba nodded and turned to hug him again. Finally, she stepped back and faced Beorn. “Do you want to yell at me too?”

He looked at her a moment and then stepped up and calmly licked her right across the face.

“I would take that as a no,” Fili said dryly, then yelped as Aragorn, walking past him to load his horse, smacked him on the back of the head. “What was that for?”

“Making her cry,” Aragorn said dryly.

Fili started to protest, then stopped and shrugged. “Fair enough.”

They loaded up quickly after that. Bilba started to head toward her pony only to give her own yelp of surprise as Fili swept her up in his arms and set her on Beorn’s back.

At her questioning look he said, “His home is on the way so he’s going with us awhile.”

“Really?” Leaning forward, Bilba hugged the giant shapeshifter again. “I’m so glad!”

Beorn made a sound that she assumed meant he felt the same.

A few minutes later everyone was ready. Aragorn and Legolas rode at the front, Bilba and Beorn behind them with Legolas, Fili and Kili ranged around her.

“It’s like the Company of Bilba Baggins,” Kili said with a grin.

Bilba grimaced. “Not Company.” She frowned, biting her lip as she studied them. “Fellowship,” she said finally.

“The Fellowship of Bilba Baggins,” Legolas said. “I like it.”

Bilba grinned. Her eyes went over her friends gathered around her. More in the form of Thranduil, Bard and his children stood on the steps to see them off. All of them loved her and she loved them all in turn.

Her hand went to her stomach, resting lightly on the small bulge there.

There was still pain, hurt and anger over what the Company had done to her. There was still fear over what Thorin might still do if he found out she carried his children. There was still the anxiety over her pregnancy, the journey, and what would happen once she arrived back home.

But, for now, there was the proof right before her eyes that, for every loss she’d suffered, she’d also gained.

She turned to face the path before her and found Aragorn studying her.

She smiled at him and he turned and signaled for them to move out.

Fili said something to Kili that had him laughing and Legolas moved up a little to speak to Glorfindel.

Bilba moved and shifted until she found way lying on her back, the movement of Beorn’s shoulders under her soothing. The voices of her friends flowed around her and, overhead, the sun shone down through breaks in the trees.

She sighed and shut her eyes, resting her hands on her stomach.

Things weren’t perfect but she was safe, she was content, and she was going home.

It was enough.

 

 

 

***

 

In the midst of a dead land lay a ruined tower. Orcs swarmed over it like maggots, clearing rubble and shoring up ruined walls. Bit by bit the tower grew, reaching toward the sky like an evil hand grasping to blot out the sun.

A lone orc scuttled across a thin bridge leading inside. He was one of the few survivors of the battle at Erebor, sent back alone to report news of Mordor’s defeat.

For a time there was no reaction from within the tower.

Then a sound started, slow at first but quickly gaining in strength and intensity. It roared through broken halls, vibrated through fallen stone and echoed endlessly into the sky.

It was a scream of pure rage, hatred, and anger. It flowed through the air in an almost physical waves.

The orcs in the tower quivered and shook with fear.

In the white city, people stopped as their hearts jumped with fear.

As far as Erebor dwarves, elves and men found themselves stopping in their tracks as an unexplained chill ran up their spines.

 Deep within Mirkwood.

 Under the silent branches of cursed and dying trees.

 Around the throat of a small and gentle Hobbit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A gold ring stirred.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested there is a song that goes with the end of this chapter. It's by a band called Switchfoot and is called "When We Come Alive". Every time I hear it I can picture it for this story perfectly. If HB were a movie this song would play at the end over the credits (as Bilba is riding away) and would probably have a flashback sequence at various points showcasing the evolution of Thorin and Bilba's relationship.   
> Here's a link for it on YouTube if you're interested!  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMmTRwuvMiw
> 
> A huge, HUGE thank you to my amazing, talented, wonderful beta Drenagon. Without her this story would have made a lot less sense! She always got my chapters back ridiculously quickly even when I dropped multiple chapters on her at once and even when she wasn't feeling all that great. 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to all of you who read and/or commented as well! I still find it an amazing thing to have readers who love my story and have invested their time in reading it and I just want to say you are amazing and awesome and wonderful and getting comments and kudos and bookmarks and subscribers has me bouncing up and down and being happy all day long. A HUGE thank you and I hope to see you all on Part II!!
> 
> There is already a story set up for Part II so you guys can go subscribe if you want to. Once I get the first chapter done I'll delete the placeholder that's there now and put up the new chapter. That'll send out a notification to you guys that the new one is up! :D :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Homeward Bound: An Unexpected Journey FanArt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404214) by [stefherde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefherde/pseuds/stefherde)
  * [Here Comes Trouble...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391878) by [akahime4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akahime4/pseuds/akahime4)




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